


constellations

by i_feel_electric



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band), K-pop
Genre: Aka me, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Anxiety, But also, Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, and a poet, but this is not a coffee shop au, jiyong is a person just trying to person, seunghyun is a bartender, there is a coffee shop involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-20 02:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric/pseuds/i_feel_electric
Summary: jiyong moves to a new city, because sometimes the movement of his own feet on the sidewalk doesn't cut it. it's impulsive, in the kind of way he usually isn't, but it happened and now he's here. in this building. with a pink-haired neighbor who seems to be more fiction than fact, the more jiyong learns about him. or, really, the more he insinuates himself into jiyong's life. like jiyong wasn't just fine, languishing in his empty, unfurnished apartment like a totally normal human being.or, a story about how hard it is to love someone when existing is already hard enough.
Relationships: Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey friends. so, a little explanation first. i started writing this over 3 years ago as a means to deal with my own depression and anxiety. some friends read it as i went, and said "yo, you should publish this". initially, i agreed. but as the years piled up and my distance to the fic grew, i decided i didn't feel the same way about it anymore. adapting it didn't feel right. it needed to stay in its original form. and here i am, finally sharing it with the rest of you.
> 
> the final few bits are still being written, but it's a pretty meaty story. i figured putting it out there and getting excited about it again would help me wrap it up. so i'll be posting each part once a week-ish. maybe less if my brain cooperates lol. either way, i hope you enjoy it. and i hope that anyone who needs a little reassurance that they're not alone can find it here <3
> 
> ALSO, it saddens me to say that this will be my last gtop fic. if you'd like to know more about that decision, you can read about it here on tumblr: https://i-feel-electric.tumblr.com/post/190003549141/a-goodbye-of-sorts

For as long as Jiyong can remember, he’s had an inherent need to move. Walking, pacing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s an itch as much as it’s an invisible hand tugging at his wrist, begging him to drop whatever he’s doing and leave. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Be it a thousand miles or around the damn block. This time, it brought him to another city on the other side of the country, far far away from everything he’d known. Not that what he knew was particularly special. Not that what he’d left behind was really worth missing. As far as Jiyong’s concerned, his existence will continue in much the same way that it did before, just in this new, unfamiliar space.

Sighing, he stares at all the boxes he hasn’t unpacked yet and ignores the voice in the back of his head whispering about _change_. Another whisper echoes in his feet—that itch under his skin telling him it would be easier to take off. Wander away from this lonely, unfurnished apartment and let his shoes eat unfamiliar pavement until they’re full. Instead, Jiyong leans against the blank, white wall of the living room, staring at floorboards coated in afternoon sunlight.

A walk would probably make him feel less overwhelmed, though. He doesn’t want to think about setting up internet or trying to remember which door in the basement leads to the laundry room. Jiyong could do with a little getting lost, anyway. There’s a whole network of streets waiting to be found. New buildings, new sounds. New ways to disappear. But as soon as Jiyong makes up his mind, a shadow suddenly hops across the floor. He frowns and lifts his head to the tune of knuckles tapping glass.

There’s a guy—crouched on his fire escape. Jiyong squints against the sun’s glare and the stranger lifts one hand, waving a bit shyly and smiling. Which is great and all, it’s just that Jiyong can’t really get past the pale pink hair haloed in gold. He immediately thinks of religious iconography. Angels and saints and ancient rulers who thought they were gods. Then the guy stops waving hello and starts waving like he’s trying to bring Jiyong back from the other end of the galaxy.

He blinks away the daze, blushing faintly in embarrassment as he shuffles towards the windows. From this distance he can see more details. The half frame horn-rimmed glasses, the tattoos, the fact that the guy’s wearing nothing more than boxers and a tank top. _In October_. The stranger’s smile twitches wider, a crease cutting into his left cheek like a parenthesis. Like a failed attempt to contain his lightbulb mouth.

Jiyong’s brow furrows at the same time his brain has the ingenious idea to call him the patron saint of dimples and perfect teeth.

“Hi,” Patron saint of dimples says, still grinning.

“Hi?” Jiyong returns, apparently so uncertain of his greeting that it sounds like a question.

“You moved in on Wednesday, right?” Dimples asks, the barrier of glass doing nothing to obstruct how deep his voice is.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s cool.” Dimples nods as well. “I live upstairs.”

“Cool,” Jiyong echoes. He should open the window instead of standing there ogling the guy’s heavily inked arms. Not that that would make this better.

But Dimples doesn’t seem to mind, gesturing at the room behind him.

“You haven’t done much unpacking.”

Jiyong glances over his shoulder and shrugs. “It’s a work in progress.”

Dimples breaks out into another dazzling grin. “Isn’t everything?”

His responding laughter startles him, enough that he has to duck his head and wonder how he ended up choosing the one building with the absurdly attractive, cotton candy-haired philosopher as his neighbor. There could be others, sure. But do they own festive black boxers dotted with happy, little ghosts? Jiyong wouldn't bet money on it.

Sweeping his bangs out of his face, he looks up. Dimples is staring at him, lips still curved in gentle amusement, and the itch in Jiyong’s feet bleeds into his legs.

“Did you need something?” he asks, wanting this to end before his instinct to bail takes over.

“What?” Dimples’ thick eyebrows come crashing down and then proceed to climb up his forehead. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was gonna ask if you had any sugar.”

“Sugar,” Jiyong repeats slowly. Does shit like this actually happen in real life?

“I mean, I’d go to the store, but it’s Sunday and I can never remember what’s still open,” Dimples explains. “I already asked Francis—he lives across the hall from me, real nice guy—anyway, he didn’t have any, so you were the next logical choice. Plus I hadn’t said hi yet.” He beams, dropping his chin into his hand, brown eyes crinkling cheerily. “Y’know, two birds one stone.”

Jiyong would rather pretend that he didn’t have a heart at all than admit how hard it just tripped over itself. Because that’s not a lightbulb, that’s a goddamn supernova.

“Um, h-how much– how much do you need?” he fumbles like a pro and averts his gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets because the itch is spreading there, too.

“One cup. For the best chocolate chip cookies in the history of chocolate chip cookies,” Dimples replies smoothly.

“Right.” He offers an unsteady smile. “I’ll just...go check.”

Giving Jiyong a two-fingered salute, Dimples’ mouth curls into a friendly smirk. “I’ll be here.”

When he makes it to the kitchen, Jiyong presses a hand over his eyes and thinks about bubbles popping. He knew he wouldn’t be able to exist in isolation forever. It had to happen at some point, life being what it is, and he can do this. He can talk to strangers and make friends and not be a mess for once. That’s why he’s here. Fresh start, new leaf. A chance to reinvent himself.

_Jesus, who am I kidding?_

Jiyong drags his hand down his face and ignores the ever-present itch, gaze roaming around the narrow kitchen. He has no idea if there’s sugar in one of these cabinets, because he doesn’t cook, but his mom stashed a random bag of groceries in the rental car when he wasn’t looking. He just can’t remember what was in it when he unpacked it four days ago.

Cabinet number one yields an unopened box of Lucky Charms, olive oil, and a bag of trail mix. Number two is full of canned soup he doesn’t even like. Jiyong only sees coffee mugs in number three and thinks he’s going to have to tell Dimples he’s shit out of luck when he nudges one aside, catching a flash of bright yellow all the way in the back corner. How the box of Domino sugar ended up halfway to Condiment Narnia, he has no idea. All he knows is that it’ll be better off in Dimples’ far more capable hands. Hands that Jiyong isn’t going to stare at the second he walks into the living room, wondering what the tattoos on his fingers are, but is too chicken-shit to ask.

Grabbing the box, he takes a deep breath and tells his feet to walk past the front door without pausing. His neighbor lights up the instant Jiyong reappears in the living room.

“My hero!” Dimples cheers, inked hands laying over his heart.

His lips twitch as he sets the sugar on the sill to lift the window, crisp October air flooding the room in a rush. It smells like wet leaves.

“I don’t have anything to measure it with. Guess I’ll just have to trust you,” Jiyong finds himself murmuring, arm outstretched, despite the fact that he’ll most likely never use the sugar anyway.

Dimples weighs the box in his grasp and even though Jiyong is peering intently out at the alley, he can see the shape of his grin.

“I promise I’m not a sugar thief,” Dimples vows.

“It’s okay, I know where you live now,” he answers, earning a burst of gravelly laughter.

Jiyong’s pretty sure laughter’s not supposed to sound that nice, and when he turns, he finds the sun still playing in messy, pink strands like they live there.

“Fuck, I didn’t even introduce myself,” Dimples blurts, sticking a hand out, chuckling at himself. “Seunghyun Choi.”

He hesitates for half a breath before extending his own hand to take it. “Jiyong Kwon,” he replies automatically and then feels weird about using his last name, because who does that? This isn't a business conference, last he checked.

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun repeats, his eyes as warm as his grip. Jiyong pretends he doesn’t like the way that mouth looks wrapped around his name.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Seunghyun adds.

Nodding, he lets go, sliding both hands back into his pockets.

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” A flicker of a frown crosses Seunghyun’s lips. “Or is that a cookiesaver?”

“It’s really no problem,” Jiyong huffs, shoulders hunching when the itch seems like it might crawl inside his stomach next. “Anything for the best chocolate chip cookies in the history of chocolate chip cookies.”

“Seriously, you’re a hero,” Seunghyun says. He tilts his head, eyebrows raised. “But I should probably get back upstairs before the eggs decide to revolt. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

Wiggling the box of sugar in the air, Seunghyun gives him one last supernova smile and then bounces his way up the metal stairs. Jiyong watches through the grate as his new neighbor disappears into the open window of his apartment. A chilled breeze skates by, ruffling his hair. He nods to himself now and shuts the window, wandering towards the bedroom to grab his hoodie.

Jiyong leaves the lonely, unfurnished apartment and doesn’t start to feel less overwhelmed until he hits block five, glad for every lungful of autumn air. City air. All the smells he can’t identify yet because he’s never been here. The strangeness of it is relaxing in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He can move without being noticed and knows that if someone does, it’ll be without a single trace of recognition. Like Jiyong is merely another unexceptional part of the scenery.

It was harder to do this back home. Small towns are always smaller than they first appear, especially when you’ve lived there for the entirety of your own short, remarkably boring twenty-six years. In high school, he got creative—sticking to the less popular nature trails during the day and navigating sleepy, suburban neighborhoods at night. In college, Jiyong was too busy writing papers. Too busy reading, memorizing, regurgitating. Cramming sleep in the gaps when he could find them. And for what? He didn’t even graduate. He just moved back, worked at his cousin’s shitty hardware store for almost five years, and pretended he couldn’t feel the itch. It drove him fucking crazy.

Which is why he essentially closed his eyes and pointed at a map out of desperation. Because the sleepy, suburban neighborhoods weren’t really cutting it anymore and he didn’t know what else to do but leave when the tugging told him enough was enough.

Here, wherever “here” really is, might not be the answer. Jiyong doesn’t even know what the question is. In the end, it was just an exit from a life he had no idea how to operate anymore. And a way to satisfy the itch.

Hanging right onto a more crowded street, he follows the river of people, gratefully swallowed up in their kinetics. He stares mostly at the cement that swims between armies of feet and lets them lead. Cars and voices pass in a wash of sound, faces blur. Jiyong waits at crosswalks, files away the street names when he needs to, and tries not to jiggle his leg in the time it takes for the signal to change. He doesn’t think about home. He doesn’t think about looking for a job. He doesn’t even think about Seunghyun and his parenthetical grin or how awkward that conversation was. It’s just him, the city, and the comfort of being set adrift. Something he'd been so desperate to feel again that he almost can't handle the way it blankets him in this weird sense of peace. Needless to say, it's not exactly an emotion he's used to experiencing very often. If at all.

When he finally makes it back to the building, it’s after dark—orange street lamps shining through orange leaves, casting eerie, transparent shadows against the brick. He only falters at the door for a second before unlocking it and climbing the stairs to the fifth floor. Jiyong feels worn out enough to actually sleep tonight, absently kicking his shoes off when he steps into the apartment, leaving the lights off as he pads through the darkened living room. But somewhere in the middle, he freezes. Because even in the dark, the glow of the street lamps is enough to see that there’s something taped to the window.

Jiyong backtracks, flips the switch, his eyebrows scrunching together in bewilderment.

But he’s not imagining things. There really is a drawing of a T-Rex holding two cookies in tiny dinosaur hands, scrawled on a piece of yellow, lined paper ripped from a legal pad. A speech balloon emerges from its toothy grin, proclaiming “a humble gift for the gallant hero” in bold, black letters. He snorts and looks down, finding the box of Domino sugar safely packed in a ziploc bag on the ledge, right beside a plastic tupperware container. The container has a note, too. “I’d tell you to be careful, but where’s the fun in that? Enjoy your chocolate chip demise :)” and below, a lopsided heart with the letter ‘S’ scrawled inside of it.

For a moment, Jiyong feels like he can’t breathe. And when that moment passes, his heart begins to tap out an uncomfortable rhythm, every molecule of peace that had settled inside of him dissolving, just in the span of thirty seconds. He shouldn’t be losing his shit over cookies. Or the unwarranted kindness of charming, pink-haired strangers who make his face do stupid things. Like smile.

Jiyong chews on his lip, but it doesn’t help. Aggressively massaging his cheeks doesn’t help, either, and he sighs, feeling something hot flare up inside of him as he opens the window. The heat doesn’t fade with the burst of cold night air. It doesn’t fade when he gathers the box and the container and carefully peels the drawing from the glass. It’s still there in the kitchen. And the living room as he turns off the lights. Jiyong impulsively re-tapes the drawing to the bedroom wall across from the mattress where it sits on the floor and feels his skin prickle.

Removing his hoodie and his jeans, he crawls into bed, arms pillowed beneath his head and blankets already tangled around his legs. In the weak city glow spilling through curtainless windows, he stares at the T-Rex—that heat blooming in his stomach—and he thinks about religious iconography. Bubbles popping. Happy ghosts. And the consequences of being known.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


A blaze of light invading the bedroom rouses Jiyong from sleep in the early afternoon, setting the backs of his eyelids on fire. He groans and flops over onto his side, not wanting to get up, but it’s so bright, it’s like the fucking sun itself is inside the room, filling every corner until it hurts to even squint. Jiyong lies there in low-key agony wondering why the apartment hasn’t burst into flames yet. Wondering if today will be the day he somehow develops the motivation to finish unpacking, despite not having anywhere to put anything.

Jiyong glares weakly at the boxes he can see through the crack in the door, knowing already that he won’t touch them. It’s not the deadline yet, anyway. He still has a couple weeks to splash around in his kiddie pool of indifference before he has to get serious. He promised himself. No half-assing it this time.

The voice in the back of his head calls him a liar. Jiyong lurches up from the mattress and doesn’t give it the satisfaction of listening.

Walking into the kitchen, he stares blankly at his almost empty fridge, stomach gurgling at him in anger. There’s the cereal, but he doesn’t have any milk. Pasta, but no sauce. Soup he hates. Box of sugar. Jiyong’s brain skids to a halt and he turns around.

There, sitting innocuously on the opposite counter, just waiting for him to notice. _The cookies_.

He’s on them in seconds, ripping the lid off and tossing it aside with a dull, plastic clatter. The smell hits him first—baked dough, butter and chocolate wafting up to assault his nose—and he can’t help it, he groans, fingers reaching for one flawlessly golden morsel. Jiyong brings it to his mouth, the multitude of flavors hitting the back of his throat before he even takes a bite.

If god really does exist, he’s pretty sure they’re wandering the earth in the form of his upstairs neighbor.

“Holy shit,” Jiyong mumbles, still chewing.

Chocolate melts onto his thumb and his index finger, crumbs falling from his lips as he jams the whole cookie in all at once without shame. It’s like a perfectly balanced explosion. Not too salty, not too sweet. Crispy on the edges and soft in the middle. There’s something else he can’t place, something that’s achingly familiar and yet frustratingly elusive. Jiyong picks up another one, shoving at least half of it into his mouth. It’s literally on the tip of his tongue and he may or may not eat all twelve just to figure it out.

He isn’t successful, but he does decide that Seunghyun is an asshole. Because now he knows the taste of nirvana and no chocolate chip cookie will ever compare to what he just experienced.

Frowning at the empty container, Jiyong slips a hand under his shirt to rub at his too-full stomach. A very microscopic part of him regrets doing this when he doesn’t have milk to neutralize the sugar overdose. The rest of him would do it again twenty minutes from now. Maybe less. But there aren’t any more and he should go upstairs to thank Seunghyun for the gift he definitely didn’t deserve.

However, that would involve talking to him. And putting on pants.

Jiyong licks his fingers clean, weighing the pros and cons as he collects the leftover crumbs and goes to wash the container out in the sink. It’s not like he was planning on doing anything today. Talking to Seunghyun would at least postpone the inevitable feeling of apathy from binding itself to every atom in his body. Even though talking in general isn’t very high on his list of favorite activities.

He heaves a sigh and looks out the kitchen window. There’s no trace of the itch today, not yet. So he concedes defeat to acting like a normal human being, dries the container off, and then puts on his jeans.

It’s stupid that he feels like he’s going to war as he steps out of the apartment and into the hallway. Because if that was actually true, he is wearing some _really_ shitty armor. He doesn’t even have socks on. Jiyong glances down at his bare feet and then rolls his eyes at himself, pocketing his keys and walking along the hall to the stairs. He pretends the flutter in his stomach is from eating too many cookies and nothing else. Except that with each step, it seems to mutate from a flutter into a very compact, anxious hurricane.

By the time Jiyong is standing in front of Seunghyun’s door, he’s thinking about just leaving the container on the floor and retreating downstairs. Thinking, but not doing, because now he’s pretty sure he’s glued to the spot and he’ll have to spend the rest of his life as a poorly placed living statue.

Music filters through the heavy door. He listens for a moment and easily identifies it as Led Zeppelin's “Houses of the Holy”. Jiyong would recognize those guitar riffs anywhere, even muffled through an inch of solid wood. Seunghyun confirms it for him a few seconds later when he starts belting along with Robert Plant about satan’s daughter and he huffs out a quiet laugh. The hurricane dials back into a summer storm, one of his hands lifting without permission to knock. He gnaws on his bottom lip and doesn’t think about how awkward he’s probably going to make this.

Robert Plant’s scratchy whine erupts into the hallway as soon as Seunghyun flings the door open, an incandescent smile working its way onto his face when he sees Jiyong there.

“Hey! What’s up?”

Jiyong’s heart catapults itself into his throat at the sight of those dimples. The way a chunk of Seunghyun’s pink hair sticks out from the side of his head like it’s trying to fly away. He doesn’t know why that’s cute. Or why his brain wants to fixate on trivial details, such as the holes in Seunghyun’s t-shirt and the fact that he’s not wearing socks, either.

“Uh, hi,” Jiyong manages, fidgeting with the tupperware container in his hands. He focuses on the dead space above Seunghyun’s left shoulder.

In the pause between words, the song changes, “Trampled Under Foot” tumbling from the speakers and floating into his ears. Jiyong manages to prevent an all-out flush, but he doesn’t appreciate having a song about fucking as the soundtrack to this particular exchange.

“I take it you liked the cookies,” Seunghyun says, smiling wider, if possible.

His own lips curve in a sad attempt to reciprocate. “Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Seunghyun rubs at the back of his head, fingers tearing through already disheveled strands, and he laughs.

“Well, they were always for you, but I ruined the surprise.”

“I was still surprised,” he admits, gripping the container a bit tighter. “Do you make cookies every time someone moves in?”

“No.” Seunghyun crosses his arms and tips over to lean against the door frame, lip briefly caught in his teeth before he continues. “Just seemed like you needed it. I hope that was okay?”

Jiyong’s more surprised that the plastic doesn’t crack in his hands with how hard he’s clenching it, gaze dropping as he peers intently at the floor like that’ll make it easier to digest what Seunghyun said. Observant strangers who do nice things for him don’t exist in his world. However, Jiyong isn’t in the same reality he used to inhabit and maybe he needs to get used to that.

“I ate all of them in about five minutes if that answers your question,” he ends up blurting.

“Shit, seriously?” Seunghyun chuckles.

Lifting his head, Jiyong shrugs, a timid smile pulling at his mouth.

“They were really good.”

“I can’t take all the credit, it was my mom’s recipe,” Seunghyun says, seeming pleased nonetheless. “I started tweaking it in college and I can’t even remember what the originals used to taste like.”

“Did you use cinnamon?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Seunghyun’s eyes shine brightly. “And almond extract.”

Jiyong releases an amused breath and feels ridiculous about feeling better now that he knows. “So that’s what it was. I couldn’t figure it out,” he says.

He also feels ridiculous because this is the only kind of incredibly stimulating conversation he’s capable of having with people he doesn’t know. Which is essentially everyone on the planet. But Seunghyun is looking at him like he’s actually interested in Jiyong’s ability to taste flavors. Like he’d listen to Jiyong talk about his tastebuds for more than thirty seconds or talk about anything, just talk. It’s weird. And as “Trampled Under Foot” fades into the iconic “Kashmir”, a familiar itch starts to crawl up from the soles of his feet.

“How, um...how are you settling in?” Seunghyun asks, trying to catch his eye.

Jiyong avoids it. Robert Plant's voice fills the silence while he thinks of how to answer without answering.

_Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream._

_I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been._

Instead, he remembers reading about how Robert Plant struggled to write these lyrics, because he thought the music itself was bigger than he was. Jiyong closes his eyes and decides that that’s a pretty accurate metaphor for his life.

“I’m not,” he finally says and relinquishes his death grip on the cookie container to let his hands drift, gaze flickering over Seunghyun’s face and away as he laughs at himself. “I’ve– I dunno, I’ve never really been good at that,” Jiyong continues. “Moving, yeah. But not– not being still.”

He inhales deeply, arms falling to his sides. The itch might be in his lungs now. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

Seunghyun’s responding smile burns at a lower wattage this time and Jiyong isn’t sure what to do with the sympathy lurking behind it. Or the sad arc of those thick eyebrows while this song of all songs plays in the background.

“Well, if you need anything, just let me know,” Seunghyun offers. “You’re welcome to come hang out whenever, if that’s, y’know, if you ever want to. I’m usually home during the day.”

“Yeah,” Jiyong murmurs; doesn’t know what else to say. Except maybe, “Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

Seunghyun reaches for him then, tattooed fingers molding to his shoulder and squeezing. His heart squeezes, too, and the imprint of unexpected physical contact remains even after Seunghyun’s hand is gone.

“Are you always like this with strangers?” he has to ask.

For once, Seunghyun flounders—a nervous sound leaking from his mouth while he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Strangers are still people.”

“Yeah,” Jiyong repeats, nodding again, even though that wasn’t technically an answer.

He’d press the issue, but at this particular moment, he kind of needs to not be standing here anymore, so he holds the container out in lieu of asking anything else.

“They were really good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Seunghyun replies, lips tilted upwards at the corners.

Jiyong automatically goes for nod number three and gives Seunghyun a wan smile, waving slightly as he lets his feet shuffle backwards and spin and carry him down the hall, the stairs, into the apartment and directly into his waiting sneakers. He doesn’t care that he’s not wearing socks, that’s one more thing stopping him from leaving.

Zipping his hoodie up, Jiyong walks right past the short towers of untouched boxes, locking the apartment door behind him. When he takes the stairs two at a time, he can still hear Led Zeppelin playing above him, and he doesn’t let himself imagine Seunghyun standing there in the doorway, wondering if he could’ve said something more to make Jiyong stay.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


On day nine of being in the new apartment on the other side of the country, Jiyong celebrates his autonomy by lying on the living room floor in starfish formation, watching the light evolve. Unemployment seemed like a good idea when he had it a few months ago. He didn’t really take into account how boring it would be without anything else to do. But he didn’t do very much even when he _was_ working, which begs the question: why did he think anything would be different?

He’s not different. He’s exactly the same, just doing it...somewhere else.

Jiyong would still rather be “somewhere else” than where he was. The thing is, he doesn’t quite understand what that means yet. Because growing up somewhere isn’t the same as belonging. He’s not sure he’d even know what that felt like if he had it, honestly. Everything—family, school, work, friends—it all seemed like something he was required to participate in, so he did, despite never having a single fucking clue what the hell he was doing it for.

Maybe he’s broken. Like he didn’t come with all the parts he was supposed to come with when he ended up here. Something that no one ever asked if he wanted in the first place.

For the next hour, Jiyong tracks the evening sunlight reflected against the ceiling as it moves at a near imperceptible crawl, thinking about what kind of place the world might be if you could protest your own birth before it happened.

  
  
  
  
  


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On the tenth day, Seunghyun insinuates himself into Jiyong’s life again to the tune of knuckles tapping glass.

Not that he actually left. Jiyong tried not to think about him in the four days since they talked, but that was generally pointless when Seunghyun was sort of always there even when he wasn’t. A flash of pink in the grocery store, someone he passed on the street wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, the sound of his deep voice strong-arming its way through the ceiling just to make sure Jiyong didn’t forget he existed.

The last one made him curious, because he rarely heard any other voices talking back.

Another few taps resound against the window before he can swing from the kitchen into the living room. Seunghyun grins and Jiyong falters, beginning to resent his body’s inability to function whenever his neighbor so much as blinks. It doesn’t help that the guy looks just as good in black skinny jeans as he does in boxers. That he’s no less adorable with his pink bird’s nest tucked up and away underneath a beanie, instead of poking out into the air like it’s sentient.

A small part of him is genuinely grateful for the distraction. Even if that distraction is this.

Opening the window, he pushes his hair out of his face and shields his eyes from the late afternoon glare. “Hey.”

“What are you up to tonight?” Seunghyun asks.

Jiyong stares up at him; notes the uncertainty his grin can’t hide, since all of Seunghyun’s emotions live in his eyebrows.

“If I say nothing, are you gonna make me go do something?”

Seunghyun laughs and it sounds easy, one inked hand lifting to scratch at his scalp through the thick material hugging his head.

“Can’t really _make_ you do anything, because I’m not a psychokinetically abled supervillain,” Seunghyun explains, pausing to study Jiyong’s face before continuing. “However, I do bartend most nights and thought you might be interested in coming by later? It’s a shitty dive about a twenty minute walk from here. Generally hipsters and locals, but it’s really cheap and they play good music.”

It’s instinct for him to say no. Instinct and, admittedly, fear. Jiyong excels at pretending, he’s just not sure he’s ready to do that again so soon, no matter how much Seunghyun looks at him like a hopeful Cocker Spaniel.

“Can I think about it?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, you can do whatever you want.” Seunghyun smiles. “The invitation always stands, though. Just so you know.”

Jiyong inhales and then exhales, making an effort to hold the weight of Seunghyun’s gaze. He wonders if it won’t always be so heavy.

“Thanks.”

Seunghyun nods, expression going soft. “No problem.”

There’s a lull—Jiyong unsure of himself in situations like this, where he can see the opportunity for friendship materializing right in front of him. City sounds float up from the street and in through the window. Car horns, shouting, laughter, music. He folds his arms, wishing he knew why Seunghyun cared. He could ask. Jiyong’s pulse jumps and he thinks better of it.

“Are you headed there now?” he asks instead.

“I am,” Seunghyun replies. “Gotta train some fresh blood.”

The edge of his mouth twitches at that, almost involuntarily. “I’ll walk with you,” he says, and that’s involuntary, too. Jiyong clears his throat, gesturing vaguely at nothing. “So I know where it is.”

Another nod, another soft smile unfurling into something Jiyong can’t endure for longer than a glance.

“I’d like that,” Seunghyun says, quiet, voice as happy as the slope of his eyebrows.

Jiyong throws another useless gesture over his shoulder and retreats into the bedroom to find his hoodie. So what if he has ulterior motives. So what if he already went on a walk today. He’s allowed to admit to himself that his curiosity might be eating away at his apathy, all right. He’s allowed to try taking a step outside of his comfort zone, which he doesn’t think about at all as he jogs into the foyer, slipping his shoes on. He also doesn’t dwell on the part where they’re going to spend more than ten minutes together. That more questions will be asked and that he’ll be expected to answer them. Or, more importantly, that Seunghyun is still the first person Jiyong’s shared space with since he had dinner at his mom’s the night before he left.

It doesn’t mean anything. And yet it does at the same time.

When he makes it back to the living room, Seunghyun offers a hand to help, and he does that without thinking, too—stomach lurching from more than just the brief defiance of gravity. Jiyong feels his skin tingle and itch where their palms meet; feels the way Seunghyun hesitates to let go and the warmth of his scrutiny when Jiyong refuses to make eye-contact. He turns away and closes the window.

“Ready?” Seunghyun asks.

_Not exactly_ , he wants to say, but Seunghyun is already moving.

Their feet clang on the stairs as they go down, the sound reverberating back and forth in the alleyway. It’s a temporary placeholder for the conversation they’re about to have, but Seunghyun still tries to communicate with the slant of his lips every time they hit the next landing. Jiyong stares at the back of Seunghyun’s beanie-clad head and wonders which alternate universe it was that he fell out of.

Once he has solid ground beneath his soles, though, he relaxes marginally, somewhat more okay with the glances being thrown his way.

“You still haven’t unpacked,” Seunghyun states.

There’s no judgment in his tone, just curiosity. Jiyong supposes that’s why they’re both here right now.

“I know,” he replies. “But I don’t have anywhere to put anything.”

“Furniture might be a good start.”

He snorts and can’t stop himself from smirking. “Yeah, it might.”

Seunghyun gives him a broad grin, long legs matching his pace easily. Not many people can do that and Jiyong doesn’t file this particular piece of information away into a Seunghyun-shaped box, because there isn’t one. Or wasn’t. He ducks his head and keeps walking.

“So, where’d you move from?” Seunghyun asks.

“Does it matter?” Jiyong counters, focusing on the cracks in the pavement.

“Guess not.”

He winces. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Seunghyun says and knocks their elbows together like it really is.

Looking over, Jiyong sees the traces of Seunghyun’s amusement lining his face, living in his eyes, and he doesn’t beat himself up over his asshole reflex.

“How long--” he cuts off, darting to the side to let another body pass between them. “How long have you lived here?”

Seunghyun hums in thought. “Six years, give or take.”

“And you like it.”

They stop on the curb and wait for the signal to change, slow traffic migrating in both directions.

“Yeah, I love it,” Seunghyun answers sincerely. Sunset reflects off of his glasses in fragments of orange as he regards Jiyong for a prolonged moment. His lips quirk and he turns away. “Our frequencies ride the same wavelength. Coming here was like learning I’d been tuned into the wrong radio station my entire life.”

Jiyong stares at Seunghyun’s profile and then out at the intersection, registering light and shape and color but not really in a conscious way, too hung up on the words. On the new way to categorize how he feels about pretty much everything. He’s so spaced out that he doesn’t realize they’ve got the walk sign until Seunghyun tugs on his hoodie sleeve. Once, twice. Jiyong sways forward and follows.

“What about you?” Seunghyun asks.

He shrugs. “I’ve only been here for ten days.”

“Yeah, but I see you go out all the time,” Seunghyun reveals as he hops onto the opposite curb. “You can’t tell me this place hasn’t left some kind of impression yet.”

Jiyong experiences conflicting emotions about being noticed. Discomfort, and directly below that, pleasure. Except he’s probably not going to own up to the second one anytime soon. “It’s all right,” he mutters.

Chuckling, Seunghyun shakes his head, apparently at a loss. Jiyong wants to welcome him to the club.

They cross four more streets, exchanging silence and the occasional shoulder bump when the stream of people gets too thick. It makes him antsy, because he can’t take strides long enough to satisfy his legs, but then Seunghyun nudges them around a corner onto a quieter street—further away from the crowds and the tangled city noises. Jiyong catches the quick smile Seunghyun flashes him and doesn’t wonder how he could tell.

Here, autumn leaves whisper above their heads instead of rumbling truck engines and street chatter and without that to distract him, he remembers he had more questions, too.

“Do you talk to yourself when you’re alone?” Jiyong asks, trying not to laugh at the bemused expression on Seunghyun’s face. “I hear you a lot,” he clarifies. “Not the words, just your voice.”

Thick eyebrows raise in understanding, a new type of grin stretching Seunghyun’s lips as he peers up into the trees for a while. At first, Jiyong thinks he’s never going to get a response, but then Seunghyun spins and starts walking backwards, something new about the way his dark eyes glint in the fading light. Something magnetic.

“I may be a servant of spirits to the great unwashed, but that’s not the only entry in my dictionary definition,” Seunghyun begins, posture loose and fingers dancing through the air as he speaks.

“Because my spark—the thing that sits in my chest like a neutron star, burning me up from the inside out—is the alchemy of sound. The art of plucking words from the ether and making them vibrate across time as they were meant to. Sending every syllable on a journey—from the infinite space behind my teeth to the eternity between your ears, allowing them to be reborn as something else. Something you. A sigh, a sneeze, the way you say my name.”

Seunghyun holds Jiyong’s attention with every pause and breath and the warmth in his voice. His eloquent hands. That supernova smile.

“I play with prose and revel in the plasticity of our vernacular, so that I might take my reality and collide with yours, hoping to hear how we resonate.”

When Seunghyun finishes, Jiyong realizes that he's slowed to a stop, an odd weight to his limbs from standing still after being in motion. He opens his mouth; closes it. Seunghyun bites his lip and Jiyong hears his voice ring clear in his thoughts—tries to keep it there as much as he tries to decide what the hell just happened.

“What the _fuck_.”

Releasing a delighted burst of laughter, Seunghyun steps closer, closing the gap. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Did you just pull that out of your ass?” Jiyong demands.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus,” he breathes. “Who answers questions with improvised, spoken word poetry?”

Seunghyun blushes and ducks his head. “I’ve been doing shit like this since high school,” he explains, toying with the zipper on his jacket. “Kinda got into it by accident.”

“By accident.”

“Lost a bet Freshman year. The punishment was joining Poetry Club, except it wasn’t a punishment at all, and I kept going every week until I graduated.”

Jiyong feels a smile coming on.

“That’s pretty nerdy.”

“It was high school,” Seunghyun shoots back, eyes narrowed.

His smile grows and he lets it. “I’m allowed to pass judgment, I was a member of Chess Club.”

Seunghyun arches a teasing brow. “Is that your spark?” he asks.

“No,” Jiyong scoffs. “Pretty sure I’m sparkless.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Brushing past Seunghyun, he starts walking again, certain his new neighbor will be right behind.

“You don’t even know me, how can you believe anything?”

“A healthy sense of optimism?” Seunghyun offers in return.

He cracks another smile at that. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Ha, ha,” Seunghyun snarks, elbowing him a little less gently this time. Jiyong surprises himself by elbowing back.

“The funny part is that I’m actually serious,” he murmurs.

In his periphery, he sees Seunghyun give him a weird look. Not sad, just concerned, maybe, and he doesn’t know why that bothers him. Especially because it seems like Seunghyun doesn’t know, either. Jiyong sighs and jams his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. The tree-lined street opens up into another major intersection, city sounds rushing back in to fill the quieter spaces. Seunghyun points right, leading them over one block and past a few bustling restaurants to the darkened windows of a bar. The sign reads “Willow Street Tap” in chipped, retro typeface, its front door buried under years of graffiti.

“This is me.”

Jiyong nods.

“You can come in now, if you want. Val won’t mind,” Seunghyun continues.

“Maybe another time,” he replies. He hasn’t decided yet if he means it.

“No worries.”

Seunghyun’s smile isn’t as animated, but it still climbs up into his eyes.

“I’ll see you around,” Jiyong says, because he’s not done wandering, and he needs to keep moving, feet already migrating further along the sidewalk.

“Jiyong, the building’s that way,” Seunghyun calls after him.

Turning, he lets his mouth curve one last time.

“I know,” Jiyong says, only meeting Seunghyun’s gaze for a handful of seconds. “But I like walking.”

  
  
  
  


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There’s a map of this city in Jiyong’s head that doesn’t look like a map at all. It’s incomplete and incohesive, made up of unraveling threads that don’t go anywhere. He knows what streets are the most chaotic—those are for when he wants to disappear. He knows what streets are empty but not lifeless—those are the ones he takes when he feels too lonely, because it’s easier to share space with a single, strange body passing by and remember that this is what he is, too.

Then there are the slivers where no one exists but him. Jiyong likes those the most, because they’re unexpected. He can’t plan for them, they just are, and sometimes those scraps in time help more than any of the others.

Back home, he’d walked the same streets so often that he wondered why his feet weren’t carving grooves into the pavement. Why the earth wasn’t acknowledging that he’d been there before. A part of him didn’t mind. What was the point of leaving a mark? He’d never wanted to stand out. Another part of him felt cheated, because he obviously wasn’t going to leave anything else behind, so why not that?

Here, in this city that isn’t his, Jiyong develops a fondness for being a single, microscopic point out of millions. In feeling small, insignificant, momentary. He doesn’t need to leave anything behind. He just needs to exist until he doesn’t anymore.

Isn’t that enough?

  
  
  
  
  


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On the twelfth day, Jiyong buys a bookshelf and assembles it in the living room. He sets it against the far wall, across from the windows. But it makes the soles of his feet itch when he looks at it—half painted in the cold, autumn light spilling in from outside—and he leaves without filling any of the empty spaces.

  
  
  
  
  


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Day thirteen, Jiyong wakes up before noon to the tune of knuckles tapping glass. He wonders how his neighbor always manages to make it sound so fucking cheerful.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, he rubs at his eyes, not ready for the intensity of Seunghyun’s everything when he isn’t even human. Jiyong opens the window and the October air bites his skin hello.

“What?” he croaks.

Seunghyun puts his hand over his mouth, eyebrows already apologizing on his behalf. “Shit, I totally woke you up, didn’t I.”

“You did.” Jiyong tries to give him a reassuring smile. “But it’s fine. I should’ve gotten up earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” Seunghyun apologizes anyway.

He shakes his head. “It’s cool.”

And it is. He just needs to be not as groggy in order to convince himself.

“Can I buy you coffee to make up for it? I was gonna ask if you wanted to tag along.”

Seunghyun looks at him the same way he did on Friday—that hopeful optimism written all over his face, but not so confidently that he isn’t simultaneously expecting Jiyong to shoot him down.

What his neighbor doesn’t know is that he really, _really_ likes coffee.

“Sure,” Jiyong accepts, and it’s kind of incredible to watch how Seunghyun’s relief at hearing the simple word manifests itself. Which makes him think he needs new ways to categorize what his stomach does whenever Seunghyun decides to impersonate an atomic bomb.

“Great,” Seunghyun beams.

Jiyong’s gut twists, hands finding their way into his armpits as the chill creeps into the room. “Do you…” he trails off, clearing the indecision from his throat. “Do you wanna come in? It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

He steps back from the window and long legs extend into the apartment, shoes hitting the floor with a sense of finality that Jiyong is positive he’s imagining.

“Hey, you got a bookshelf!” is the first thing Seunghyun says when he rights himself, and he’s so genuinely excited about it, Jiyong has to laugh, probably harder than he’s laughed in a while, and he stops as abruptly as he started.

“Now I just have to use it,” Jiyong huffs, kind of embarrassed about the outburst.

Seunghyun leans over to nudge him in the arm. “Baby steps.”

His lips pull into a wry curve. Humor and fledgling familiarity swim around in Seunghyun’s eyes, seeming to reach out to him. Jiyong isn’t surprised when he nudges Seunghyun back and takes the nervous flutter in his chest with him as he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

For as long as he can remember, there’s always been that inherent need to move. There’s also never been anyone who gets it. “It” being any number of things, but all of them indescribable and falling outside the realm of what it means to be “well-adjusted”. Not his mother, not the people who were supposed to be his friends. Not even his therapist back in high school.

Part of the problem is that he’s never known how to articulate it. He barely knows how to articulate it to himself, but he thinks Seunghyun might understand what he’s looking at even if he doesn’t know what the whole picture is.

Staring at his own reflection, Jiyong stuffs his toothbrush into his mouth and lets that marinate. By the time he’s done—mouth clean, face clean, hair brushed, clothes changed—he concludes that he doesn’t hate the idea as much as he thought he would. Feeling confused, depressed, misplaced...it doesn’t mean there isn’t something inside of him that wants to connect to something else. Real connection. Not the hollow, make believe bullshit he’s had to deal with for most of his life. Or all of it. Probably all of it.

Jiyong pulls his hoodie on and looks at the drawing of the dinosaur taped to his wall. He thinks about bubbles popping and Seunghyun’s voice when he said “baby steps”. About being lonely and momentary and small.

_A humble gift for the gallant hero_.

He’s not a hero. But maybe he can still be something other than what he currently is.

The living room’s empty after he comes out of the bedroom. Which, by process of elimination, means Seunghyun is in the kitchen. Jiyong pads through the apartment to the foyer and slips his feet into his shoes.

“Ready when you are,” he announces softly, drawing Seunghyun’s attention away from his phone where he leans against the counter, earning a lopsided smile.

“Always ready,” Seunghyun replies.

And in the few seconds that Jiyong holds his gaze, he decides that inevitability is a truly terrifying thing.

  
  
  
  
  


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The Black Cat Cafe isn’t that far away, only twenty minutes in the opposite direction of the Willow Street Tap, and he wonders if this is Seunghyun’s version of a bubble. Everyone has them—constructed out of habits and the things that make us comfortable and safe. It becomes clear to Jiyong that the coffee shop is one of those places when an older man standing behind the counter radiates joy the instant they walk in the door.

“My favorite handsome asshole!” the man greets enthusiastically, tattooed arms spread wide.

Seunghyun cackles and steps around the counter to pull him in for a hug. “My favorite bearded bean wizard.”

Jiyong likes the way the man chuckles in response. It sounds hearty and round, like the ringing of an old bell cut short.

“I bet you say that to all the baristas.”

“Trust me, your luxurious whiskers have zero competition,” Seunghyun grins, reaching up to wiggle his fingers into said beard. “No barista in this city has facial hair as impressive as yours.”

The man swats him away and laughs again. “Uh-huh,” he grunts dryly, smirking, honey-brown gaze seeking out Jiyong’s over Seunghyun’s shoulder. “Who’s this?”

“This is my friend Jiyong.” Seunghyun turns and motions him closer. “He just moved here.”

“Always glad to welcome new friends,” the man smiles. “I’m Ethan.”

Jiyong ignores the way being called friend settles weirdly in his stomach. “Nice to meet you,” he replies, taking Ethan’s hand.

“How’d you find this loser?” Ethan asks. Seunghyun smacks him in the arm and that draws out another peal of bell-laughter.

“We live in the same building. I’m in the apartment below his,” Jiyong answers.

Ethan sobers, frowning solemnly.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hey!” Seunghyun almost shouts, but Ethan just pushes him aside and tries not to smile too big when Seunghyun pushes back.

It’s this one exchange—simple and effortless—that tells him how close they are, and Jiyong doesn’t know why it makes him as uncomfortable as being named a friend did.

“He’s not so bad, I guess,” Jiyong murmurs, mouth quirking as he catches Seunghyun’s eye.

Seunghyun stops shoving at Ethan and all but preens.

“Thank you.”

Jiyong’s mouth betrays him by quirking a little more and he looks away, clearing his throat awkwardly. He feels the weight of two gazes now, but all he can see is Ethan, staring at him with this sly glint in his eyes like he knows something Jiyong doesn’t.

“You want the usual?” Ethan asks Seunghyun, who nods in Jiyong’s periphery. “What about you?”

He glances at both of them. “What’s the usual?”

Seunghyun grins. “Make that two.”

“Aye, aye cap’n,” Ethan says, giving them both a lazy salute before sauntering off.

“Am I gonna regret this?” Jiyong asks.

“I hope not,” Seunghyun laughs, still grinning.

They find an empty booth in the row of booths lining the far wall. Voices from other tables flood the cozy space—the harsh sound of the milk steamer, glasses clinking, a melody drifting from the speakers that he can’t place. Now that Jiyong is paying attention, he notices the layer of Halloween decorations coating the windows and the ceiling and can’t believe the month is already halfway over.

His focus returns to the lacquered wood grain under his palms; to Seunghyun regarding him curiously from across the table.

Jiyong reclines in his seat. “What?”

“Nothing, just–” Seunghyun stops, smiles, pulls the beanie from his head to drag fingers through rumpled pink. “You don’t seem as melancholy today.”

There are a few seconds where he feels pressure against his ribs. A fleeting panic of recognition. The fact that Seunghyun took the trouble to recognize a difference at all says more than enough, but he still has to swallow the itch.

“Some days are easier than others,” Jiyong admits, hands sliding from the table top and into his hoodie pockets.

Seunghyun slumps forward onto his elbows. “Yeah, no kidding,” he agrees, and his eyebrows curve in understanding.

Tilting his head back, Jiyong finds himself arching an eyebrow of his own.

“You mean you’re not this happy all the time?”

“No.” Seunghyun scoffs. “Definitely not.”

“That’s oddly reassuring,” he murmurs.

This earns him a burst of quiet amusement and Jiyong wonders how Seunghyun makes it seem so easy. Like he’s got it stocked up and ready and doesn’t have to send out a search party whenever he thinks something is funny. In that way, Jiyong envies him. Because it’s been too long since he laughed without it practically being a revelation. Or having to think about it first.

Ethan calls Seunghyun’s name from behind the counter and Jiyong watches him slip from the booth and weave through tables to go get their drinks. But when Ethan looks over, he quickly averts his gaze to stare out the window instead. Jiyong studies the river of people on the sidewalk—sees the movement more than what’s moving—and tries to brush off the prickling heat under his skin that’s becoming uncomfortably familiar.

“Fair warning, Ethan thinks he’s a comedian,” Seunghyun says when he returns, setting the two coffees down.

Jiyong’s brow furrows, but Seunghyun just starts chuckling as he takes a sip.

“Read the cup.”

Picking up the paper takeaway cup, he twists it around until he sees blue sharpie scrawled on the side. It says “Joey McIntyre” in loose cursive. Jiyong looks at Seunghyun, then back at the cup. His lips pull and spread all on their own, stretching wider still when Seunghyun dissolves into giggles.

“What does yours say?” Jiyong asks, gesturing with his chin.

“Sylvia Plath,” Seunghyun wheezes and scrubs a hand over his face, sighing as he calms. “It’s a different poet every time. I’m impressed he hasn’t run out of names yet.”

A soft chuckle escapes from his mouth before he even realizes it’s happening, dying on his tongue when his teeth clack shut out of habit. Jiyong can’t kill the smile, though. Not when Seunghyun’s dimples seem like they’ve been permanently carved into his cheeks.

He spins the cup idly on the table in front of him, curiosity making him ask, “How long have you been friends?”

“Four years,” Seunghyun answers, taking another sip. “He’s a prick, but I love him.”

Jiyong runs his thumb along the edge of the plastic lid and nods.

“I like the way he laughs.”

When he looks up again, Seunghyun’s eyes are crinkled at the edges in tiny starbursts and Jiyong ducks his head, blushing, because he likes that, too.

“You gonna drink that or just play with it?” Seunghyun asks after a moment.

Biting down on another smile, he brings the cup to his lips. Rich toffee splashes over his taste buds, followed by the more bitter flavors of a dark roast—something earthy that fills his mouth and lingers. Jiyong’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Seunghyun slaps his hand lightly against the table in what appears to be victory. “Damn right.”

He hiccups out a snort and keeps drinking.

Cafe noise builds around them. The cash register popping open, orders called, more steaming milk. Jiyong can tell by the way Seunghyun taps his inked fingers on the table that he’s working up to a new question.

“So,” Seunghyun starts, quieter than he usually is. “If where you came from doesn’t matter, can I ask why you came here?”

Is there an award for persistence? He’s pretty sure Seunghyun deserves it.

Then again, this is what people do, isn’t it? Know things about each other. Motivations, aspirations, the facts that define us. Make us relatable. Jiyong never understood the point, even when he played along for the sake of all these unwritten social rules. It never felt real. The trivia exchange and always waiting for your turn to drop an anecdote from your, no doubt, very exciting life that no one really listens to.

Maybe he never met the right person. Never had the right conversations. Jiyong looks at Seunghyun and thinks about every way that his neighbor has been different.

“I thought I knew, but I don’t,” he says, fiddling with the coffee again instead of drinking it. “I thought going somewhere else was– I dunno, _better_ , or something. But I’m still…” he trails off, Seunghyun’s slight smirk enough to know that he’s not buying this version of the story. Jiyong sighs. “Being really vague,” he finishes.

“You are,” Seunghyun agrees.

“Sorry.” Jiyong shakes his head. “It’s not worth talking about, anyway.”

“Sure it is.”

He squints, not sure he buys that himself. “Because talking about sad shit is a great way to make friends.”

“I love sad shit,” Seunghyun insists. “Sad shit is my favorite thing in the entire world.”

Jiyong actually does laugh at this and means it and Seunghyun grins from behind his coffee cup, as if getting him to laugh is a prize and not a pain in the ass.

“Did you always know you wanted to be a poet?” he asks. It might seem like a change of subject, but it isn’t.

“Hell no,” Seunghyun answers, scrunching up his face. “None of that gelled until after college, when I moved here and started working at the bar.”

“What changed?”

“Willow Street has an open mic night. First time I worked that shift, it was legit like I’d seen the light,” Seunghyun explains. “The heavens cracked open and poured down holy, glittering sunbeams, I heard angels warbling in exultation, the earth shook,” he continues, voice low and smooth. “Doing the spoken word thing feeds me and keeps me going, but as far as like, a career and shit? I’m just as clueless.”

_Just as._ Jiyong thinks it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in the same boat. Still, Seunghyun being clueless never occurred to him. He knows he isn’t the only directionless fuck up in the world, but most days he feels like he missed the memo. About everything.

Jiyong spins the cup in both hands. “Really?”

Seunghyun nods. “Really.”

It takes him less than thirty seconds to give in to impulse.

“I spent three years on a degree I never completed and another five after that working in my cousin’s hardware store,” Jiyong admits, glancing up. “Eight years and I still can’t tell you why I bothered.”

“Is there anything you do care about?” Seunghyun asks.

He offers a thin smile and an even thinner laugh.

“I don’t know.”

Sipping at his coffee, Seunghyun leans forward on the table again, expression half-serious and half-teasing.

“Walking, perhaps?”

Jiyong’s mouth twitches. “I walk because I have to, not always because I want to,” he replies.

Seunghyun’s eyebrows appear confused, so he elaborates.

“It’s–” Jiyong tries, grasping for the best way to put this into words. “It’s kind of like what you said the other day. There’s something that won’t let me sit still for too long, like there’s too much– going on in my head or whatever. Noise, energy, anxiety, I’m not sure how else to describe it.”

“That’s why you go out every day,” Seunghyun states.

“Yeah.” He nods and then tips his head to the side. “Sometimes more than once.”

It’s not as difficult as he thought—talking about it. Jiyong feels the itch, but not like he does when he’s panicking, it’s just there. Present and not making demands. Not even when Seunghyun stares at him from across the table as if he wants to crack Jiyong’s skull open like an egg and see what falls out. The thing that surprises him here, is that for a brief moment, Jiyong almost wishes he would.

“We’ve been sitting here for a while, you wanna roam?”

His wandering gaze snaps to Seunghyun’s. He doesn’t smile, but his heart seems to be doing that for him, the way it skips in his chest, secretly elated.

“Sure,” Jiyong says.

Seunghyun beams, putting his beanie back on. Jiyong curls his fingers around his coffee cup and concentrates on the warmth of it against his skin instead of the warmth everywhere else.

Ethan is busy when they leave, waving hands communicating their farewells before they step out into the chill. Jiyong chooses a direction at random and for several blocks they don’t say anything. He’s not used to someone being with him when he does this. He also isn’t used to anyone not thinking he’s weird as hell, but Seunghyun is pretty low on the scale of what’s considered normal as far as he can tell.

They’re on a vacant side street, the muddled clamor of the city behind them, when Seunghyun breaks the silence.

“Where do you go when you walk?”

Jiyong watches the dead and dying leaves pass beneath his feet when he answers.

“Depends on how I’m feeling.” He bites the inside of his cheek, considering how much to give. “Sometimes I need to get lost. I use the busiest streets for that. And sometimes I just wanna move to remember that I can.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Seunghyun murmurs, the magic words Jiyong hasn’t heard nearly enough. “What about right now?”

He looks over, willing to not be afraid of the intense curiosity and the persistence and the recognition in Seunghyun’s eyes if it means hearing that again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jiyong replies, holding his gaze even if it’s still too heavy. “Right now I’m okay.”

Which is so true, he’s kind of having trouble believing it. But Seunghyun—Seunghyun, the strange, unanticipated event of a person who infiltrated his life to the tune of knuckles tapping against glass—he illuminates in slow motion. A forty watt light bulb. A low-burning candle flame, more heat than light.

“Good,” Seunghyun says, and Jiyong can tell that he means it.

  
  



	2. part 2

If anyone asked when he’d stopped feeling like a fully functional human being, he wouldn’t know what to say. Or why. Because it just sort of...happened. Gradually over time, like the formation of the ice caps or moss on the side of a tree. Jiyong’s been to therapy. He tried smoking pot—was prescribed Adderall when his mom cared enough to run out of patience. His Junior year of high school, he started meditating, but all that ever turned into was a surprise nap. The problem isn’t that he can’t focus. It’s not even that he’s _sad_ most days. The problem is that he doesn’t know what the problem is. Why he lacks direction, why he can’t figure out how to be happy, why it’s harder to make himself get up some mornings more than others. Why it’s so easy to shut out the rest of the world and wallow in his complete and total lack of fucks to give.

The morning after he went on a walk with Seunghyun, he stays wrapped in his blankets, waiting for the cold, bleak light pressing in through the windows to not be so cold and bleak, except it never does. It just hangs there like a depressing void of gray.

He stares at the wall and thinks about how yesterday was the first good day he’s had, possibly ever. Or maybe since he was a kid and hadn’t learned that everything was shit yet. Because they wandered around the city for an hour or two and talked about nothing. And even though it was nothing, Jiyong’s never had a pointless, marshmallow conversation and felt like he was being listened to. Seunghyun didn’t just let him awkwardly ramble about the breakfast cereals of his childhood and wait for his turn. Seunghyun actually wanted to hear the moronic crap that wouldn’t stop springing out of his mouth, prompting him with questions whenever he went quiet.

Jiyong listened, too. But it’s easy when Seunghyun makes even the most inane commentary sound interesting. His voice obviously doesn’t hurt, Jiyong would listen to him read scientific journals and then Dr. Seuss right after, because every word Seunghyun speaks has a life of its own. It’s no wonder he loves what he loves. And maybe one day he’ll get the chance to see that spark on stage. Even if it makes him jealous that Seunghyun has more passion in his pinkie finger than most people do in their entire bodies. The asshole might try and hide it, but Jiyong sees. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to.

What he doesn’t see, though, is the reason why he feels empty today when yesterday he was fine. Better. Great, even, all things considered, which is saying a lot. Flinging an arm over his face, Jiyong sighs into the stillness of the bedroom. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to think. He rolls onto his stomach and tugs the blankets up above his head, begging sleep to take him before anything else does.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


The fifteenth day, Jiyong wakes up and there’s something sitting on the windowsill in the living room again.

He pauses on his way to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and frowning at the red plastic capsule. It looks like one of those vending machine toys that were always outside of the grocery store. Jiyong knows, logically, that there’s only one way it could’ve found its way here, but he doesn’t think about that yet—just opens the window and lets it rest in his palm while the October air spreads goosebumps up his arms.

Wrenching the lid off, he tips the toy into his hand. It’s a very questionable and very misshapen ninja that’s been given a very, very sad paint job, and Jiyong feels a tremor of laughter work its way up from his stomach.

Seunghyun must have left it on his way home from the bar last night. He won’t bother asking himself why, because why does Seunghyun do anything? Even though he also knows, in the back of his mind, that this action had an explicit purpose. And also that it was successful.

Jiyong takes the deformed ninja and sets it on the top shelf of the bookcase, right in the center. Then he looks at the boxes of shit he packed, having trouble remembering what he put inside of them, let alone why he brought them at all. The deformed ninja stares back at him with its beady, crooked eyes and his lips quirk at the corners. Because if anything is going to be the first sign that someone actually lives here, it should probably be this.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


After the appearance of the sad ninja, a new capsule waits for him on the windowsill every time Seunghyun has a late shift at the bar. Now the sad ninja has other sad ninja friends in various colors and varying levels of deformity. Jiyong has a tiny plastic robot, too. And a rubber finger puppet that looks more like a mythical creature from the bottom of the ocean than what he assumes is supposed to be a dinosaur. Seunghyun never mentions it when they see each other, so Jiyong never brings it up. But he does catch the small, secret smile on his neighbor’s face whenever he sees a new toy added to the bookshelf. Those moments are difficult, because no matter how much Jiyong thinks he’s prepared to watch it happen again, he always falls prey to the itch and the flutter.

It’s mid-morning on the twenty-second day—another perfect, plastic monstrosity going up on the shelf—when he realizes he missed his pretend deadline. Which shouldn’t have been possible, since all he does is think about how much he doesn’t want to think about getting a job. Or doing much of anything, honestly, even if it is mind-numbing.

Jiyong sighs. A rhythmic tapping on the glass behind him makes him jump and he can hear Seunghyun’s entertained chuckling before he even turns around.

“Sorry,” comes Seunghyun’s apology as soon as the window’s open.

He rolls his eyes.

Seunghyun flashes him a grin. “You up for a walk?”

“I need to find a job,” Jiyong answers.

“I think Ethan’s hiring,” Seunghyun offers readily, almost like he knew they’d be having this conversation eventually. “We could stop by and ask?”

Crossing his arms, he looks down at the alley through the grate of the fire escape, at Seunghyun’s tattooed hands dangling from his bent knees. He doesn’t let himself get hung up on the use of “we” and why it sounds nice as much as it sounds anxiety-inducing, focusing instead on the part where he’s never worked in a cafe.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any experience,” Jiyong says.

When he lifts his head, Seunghyun smiles and plops his dimpled cheek into his hand—the kind of smile Jiyong can’t look at for long, because he can only classify it as affectionate, and that’s worse than the “we”.

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong supposes everyone does. And, in the end, it’s as easy as that, because Ethan hires him on the spot without even looking at his application.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Some things—most things—seem too good to be true. Like the way Jiyong has coasted through life, never meeting disaster and never courting prosperity. Like knowing Seunghyun and having this job essentially handed to him on a silver platter. He’s aware that Ethan didn’t have to say yes, but he’s also aware that the reason he got it wasn’t because of his outstanding qualifications. Landing the job at his cousin’s hardware store was the same. Jiyong didn’t care at the time, since it was easy and he needed the money and, for some reason, family meant getting away with slacking off. This is different. This is tenuous threads and inadequacy and not knowing what to do with the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that he’s going to fuck it all up.

The fact that he’s even _in_ this position is enough to have him pacing the apartment on the evening of his first day.

Jiyong acknowledges that he’s overreacting. But the anxiety is very real and he can’t shake it, even when he power walks his way to the coffee shop, arriving half an hour early. He paces here, too—drifting back and forth in the autumn chill, wishing he still smoked so that he’d have something to do besides disintegrate inside his own head.

Reminding himself that he’s done this before doesn’t help. Reminding himself that he can do this again and not be a mess doesn’t, either.

“Hey, Jiyong,” Ethan’s voice cuts through the brain-static and Jiyong looks up.

“Hey,” he returns, still moving.

Ethan smiles. “You gonna stop pacing like a crazy person and come inside?”

“Sorry,” Jiyong blurts. “I’m–” He heaves a large sigh, raking a hand through his mop of hair as he moves closer. “I’m just nervous.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Ethan teases.

His heart jolts when the older man reaches out to take him by the shoulders and spin him around, marching them both through the door.

“But you’ve got nothing to be nervous about, young padawan. The time has come for your training, and I’m going to mold you into a Jedi Coffee Master, like many who have entered this hallowed establishment before you.”

Jiyong’s mouth twitches, eyes darting around the warmly lit cafe, relieved when he sees that it’s quiet and almost empty.

“Are you Yoda, Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan in this scenario?” he asks. His skin tingles where Ethan’s fingers squeeze his shoulders. He’s not used to being man-handled.

“I think the beard speaks for itself,” Ethan answers.

A soft laugh spills out of him at that and Ethan pats him on the back, guiding him behind the counter. He stares at all of the equipment, some of it familiar and some of it totally alien. The itch and the flutter compete for their right to the throne, but Jiyong isn’t looking forward to either one of them winning.

“This is Rebecca.” Ethan gestures to the redhead standing at the other end, near the sink. “She’s a regular on weeknights and officially your new best friend.”

Rebecca snorts and tosses both of them a wry grin as she dries her hands off. “He’s been here for five seconds and you’re already bossing him around?”

“Well, I _am_ the boss,” Ethan says, folding his arms over his chest. “Bossing is kind of what I do.”

She rolls her eyes and drops the dish rag onto the counter, walking over, smile sweet. “You can call me Becca.”

Jiyong takes her offered hand. He likes the freckles dusting her cheeks.

“Jiyong.”

Becca’s smile grows. “Welcome to the circus.”

“Thanks,” he huffs, attempting to smile back.

“Awesome. See? Best friends already,” Ethan says. He crooks a finger at Jiyong and turns, heading for another door against the wall behind them. “C’mon, Joey, we’ve got paperwork to fill out before the fun begins.”

Except Ethan’s definition of “fun” definitely needs some tweaking. Because when he gets sent home at ten o’clock, his brain is overstuffed with coffee lingo, espresso machine parts, other things he knows he crammed in there but can’t remember anymore. And all he did was watch—Becca filling orders while Ethan’s resonant voice gave a play by play of what was happening. Jiyong has a binder full of stuff that he has to study, like he’s back in college. He has a stock room to familiarize himself with, rules to memorize, a place for everything and everything in its place.

The city pulses around him as he walks, some pockets just waking up as others go to sleep. Jiyong’s head pulses with it and now that he’s not being buried under information, the panic slowly emerges from the ether to remind him it’s still there. Because tonight was easy. Tonight was standing by the sidelines and barely having to speak—pretending that it won’t be him eventually standing at the register making small talk with strangers.

Somehow, Ethan seemed to know how much Jiyong was trying to act cool, calm, collected. He could tell by the way the older man kept trying to make him laugh. Big smiles, soft words. Like he was a spooked animal about to bolt.

Jiyong looks at the buildings reaching up into the indigo haze, counting the squares of light dotting their faces while he waits for the signal to change. He wonders if Seunghyun talked to Ethan. Wonders if he told his friend to handle this one with care. Or maybe Jiyong’s just not as good at hiding it as he used to be.

When he makes it back to his own building, he uses the streetlamp glow to navigate his way through the apartment and into the bedroom, setting the binder on the floor next to his mattress. Jiyong fishes his phone out of his pocket and frowns at the blinking, green notification light. He rarely checks it, because he never gets messages from anyone, but when he swipes the lock screen away there are a few texts from Seunghyun. He forgot they exchanged numbers a couple days ago.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 4:46PM]**

Good luck! :)

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 4:47PM]**

And if Ethan gives you a hard time

just give me a heads up and I’ll

threaten him with a beard trimmer.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:03PM]**

Are you still alive? How’d it go?

Jiyong stares at the illuminated screen and feels his throat go tight. He inhales deeply, thumbs moving to type in a reply.

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]**

alive, but overwhelmed

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]**

you can put away the beard trimmer

The response is almost instantaneous and Jiyong lets out an amused breath.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]**

Can I help? :(

Chewing on his lip, he thinks that if he has to deal with Seunghyun’s kindness in person, he might lose what little stability he has left. Even if a part of him reluctantly admits to wanting it.

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]**

i appreciate the offer, but i think

i’m just gonna pass out

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]**

ethan wants me to come in

again tomorrow morning

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]**

No worries! Hope you sleep

well ^^v

Jiyong shakes his head at the emoji and still can’t believe how it’s possible that Seunghyun is twenty-seven and not ten.

He drops his phone onto the mattress, stripping down and going into the bathroom. When he returns, there’s another series of texts—a novel of fucking text—sent several minutes after the last, and he sits on his bed in the dark and reads.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:43PM]**

By the way, I just want to reiterate

the fact that I’m here if you need

anything. Like, literally anything. It

doesn’t matter if it’s 4 in the morning

or the middle of the day. You can

call or text whenever you want.

You can come bang on my door

or show up at the bar…

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Oct 24 10:44PM]**

Or you can do nothing, y’know,

no pressure.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:47PM]**

But I know what it’s like to be

alone and lonely and quietly

losing your shit. And I don’t

want you to think you have to

deal with that by yourself.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:47PM]**

I also don’t want you to feel

obligated, though. So you can

tell me to fuck off and that’s

totally cool, too.

He’s not done reading yet when the next one comes in, the screen beginning to warp and go fuzzy as his vision blurs.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 24 10:48PM]**

I’ve just been thinking about it.

And I wanted to make sure you

understood what that offer

really meant and that you can

take it or leave it and I’ll still

be your friend.

Jiyong draws his knees up, hugging them to his chest, fighting the tears that want to roll, hot and fat, down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Can’t remember needing to until now. Still, he feels the ragged hitch in his lungs whenever he breathes. The wet sniffle when he can’t stop his nose from running.

It’s not enough to break the dam, he’s not ready for that. But the pressure is different now.

As Jiyong stares at his phone, he wipes his face with trembling fingers. He has no idea how to respond to this. Even after he reads it a second and then a third time, sifting through memories of the last month and every month that preceded it to find whatever it was he did to deserve this.

Sniffling again, Jiyong lets his head tip over to thunk against the wall and comes up with nothing.

Maybe, for once, that’s okay.

  
  
  
  


**[Sent: Oct 24 11:08PM]**

i’ll take it

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


For all the romanticizing the general populace indulges in when it comes to coffee shops, Jiyong can now say with authority that the real thing is nothing like the fantasy. That could be his inexperience talking, but when Ethan throws him into the deep end after only a week of training, he’s surprised he doesn’t have a gigantic meltdown right in the middle of it.

What’s worse is that it’s the morning of Halloween and it seems like he’s made enough pumpkin flavored coffee drinks to drown the entire goddamn city.

“I hate you a lot right now,” Jiyong sighs, locking a portafilter into the group head and jabbing the dispense button.

Ethan cackles, because he is, in fact, a prick.

“You had to leave the nest eventually, little bird.”

There’s also that—the way Ethan gives him a million nicknames, sometimes more than one during a single shift. It makes him feel the same way he did the first time Seunghyun called him a friend. Undeserving. Pleased. Bewildered. None of it helps him not want to break down into a thousand tiny particles.

“But one week?” he asks, holding up the cappuccino cup to collect the thick liquid and avoid splashing, like he was told.

“I wanted you to see what it was like and know that you could do it, instead of being afraid of it,” Ethan explains, frothing a pitcher of milk beside him. “We’ll go back to the old schedule again after today.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Jiyong mutters.

Ethan’s disbelieving side-eye might as well have smacked him in the face.

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a thing,” Ethan insists, both eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t have to.”

Jiyong ignores the older man’s smug expression and concentrates on what he’s doing. He already messed up a couple times today and he is all too aware of the massive line behind him. But it’s not easy to get his hands to stop feeling jittery. To get his head on straight and his heart beating steady. The dull roar of the cafe swells in the background—a constant reminder of how much longer this hell is going to last.

When he goes to pour the milk into the cup, pulling the froth forward with a small spatula, Ethan watches. Jiyong refuses to let it intimidate him, though. He just focuses on what he learned. Even if what he learned is still precariously balanced and without roots.

“Good,” Ethan murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. “Now let it sit, like we talked about, and remember to breathe.”

He exhales and Ethan smiles.

“It wouldn’t kill you to believe in yourself a little bit.”

Jiyong ducks his head, huffing out a nervous laugh. “I’m working on it.”

One of the other baristas—Tom, he thinks—calls for Ethan at the register. Ethan gives his shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

“Keep kicking ass, young padawan,” the man tells him. “You’re doing great.”

He’s not sure he agrees. But Jiyong still lets the praise settle over him. Lets it maneuver its way through his body until he feels like he can at least fake it for a little while. He’s good at that. Maybe the real problem is that he always has been.

Jiyong adds more foam, serves the cappuccino, discards the coffee puck from the portafilter, starts over again. He can’t decide if he’s relieved or not when Ethan takes him off drinks half an hour later and puts him on the register. After forcing a smile for the fifteenth time, he thinks he’d rather fail at tamping the coffee grounds properly again. Anything but act chipper when he’s the embodiment of the exact opposite.

His break comes and goes. The morning dwindles and so does the crowd. Tom congratulates Jiyong on not fucking up as much as he did, back when Ethan pulled the same thing with him a year ago. It’s small consolation. Because right now Jiyong feels like a wrung-out ghost. Which is fitting, given the holiday.

“I still hate you,” he grumbles weakly, one hand already on the door.

Ethan’s responding grin is as gleefully sadistic as it is fond. “I hope that changes.”

Jiyong barely has the energy to glare at him.

“You’re a jerk,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Actually,” Ethan says, preventing him from walking out. “Take tomorrow off. Come back on Wednesday evening.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

Ethan smiles again and this time it’s less sadistic and more fond.

“Yeah.”

Jiyong gives him a slight smile back. “Thanks.”

“But be ready.” Ethan points at him in emphasis. “Because I’m not letting you leave until you pour the perfect espresso shot.”

“I can’t wait,” he deadpans.

The older man’s expression turns wry as he nods and waves him off. Jiyong gratefully floats through the door and out onto the street and doesn’t stop floating until he reaches the apartment, lying down on the living room floor, too exhausted to go any further.

His feet hurt and his arms are sore, but it’s been awhile since he used his body for more than just walking. The floorboards feel nice and cool against his cheek; the stillness a balm after everything being in constant motion for eight hours. He’d add peace and quiet to the list, but once a bit of the fog clears, he can hear music thrumming into the room from above.

Jiyong holds his breath and strains to listen. It’s somewhere in the first half of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance”. He allows a real smile now, because he likes this song, and he wishes it was louder. Jiyong could text Seunghyun and tell him to turn it up, except that involves reaching into his pocket, and he refuses to move.

So he just lies there. Listening.

The beginning of the next song is too faint to make out until the chorus. Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer”. It’s difficult to hear all the words through the ceiling. Although he wouldn’t need to, they were permanently etched into the cellular structure of his brain when he was twelve—his mom playing nothing else but this album for a very bizarre two weeks. He never asked why.

What follows is a song Jiyong doesn’t recognize. The voice, however, is a different story, and he laughs, finally breaking and digging out his phone.

**[Sent Oct 31 1:34PM]**

really? my chemical romance? i

didn’t know we were still in high

school

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 31 1:35PM]**

Fuck you, it’s a good song.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 31 1:35PM]**

AND it was released in 2010.

The music grows noticeably louder after the second text. Jiyong snorts and closes his eyes, spreading his arms out and letting the muffled sound envelop him. He smiles wider as the songs come and go, most familiar and some new. But it’s the Nat King Cole track that gets his brain cells functioning again, especially when the next three songs also have “summer” in their titles. Mungo Jerry, The Lovin’ Spoonful, Bryan fucking Adams.

After Queens of the Stone Age begins to pound through Seunghyun’s floor, Jiyong realizes how much he’s grinning. Because his neighbor is ridiculous.

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]**

you know tomorrow’s november, right?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]**

I was bored.

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]**

turn it up

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]**

It’s plenty loud where I’m

standing.

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]**

not moving

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]**

ethan made me work the

morning rush today

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]**

Hold on, I’m coming down.

Jiyong doesn’t get to tell him that not moving also means not getting up to open the window, because he already hears the clank of footsteps on the fire escape. Another song starts while he waits, but he doesn’t know this one, either. Something upbeat and catchy and repetitive in a way that should be obnoxious, but isn’t. He looks over. Seunghyun grins through the glass and pushes the window open from the outside. If Jiyong had anything worth stealing, he might be a little more worried about forgetting to lock it.

“Couldn’t even make it to your bed?” Seunghyun asks, the music filtering in behind him, clearer than before.

“I like the floor,” he argues.

Coming over to crouch beside Jiyong, Seunghyun laughs softly and shakes his head.

“You need a couch.”

Jiyong stares up at the ceiling. “What I need is to sleep forever,” he sighs.

Seunghyun’s eyebrows wrinkle in concern beneath the mess of his pink fringe.

“Ethan really had you open on Monday morning?”

“He said he didn’t want me to be afraid of it.”

“And?” Seunghyun prompts.

He attempts to shrug, glancing towards Seunghyun and away. “It was a lot.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Jiyong doesn’t need to see the sympathetic expression he knows is there, it’s loud enough in the gentle rumble of his voice.

Ever since the night Seunghyun sent those texts, things have been the same but also not. Easier, maybe. Or maybe there isn’t even a word for it. He doesn’t keep as much of himself so tightly locked away, but it’s still weird for him, deciding to let it go. Deciding to not be as cautious. Jiyong has to admit he’s not really sure how this works, though. In theory, yeah. Friendship isn’t a totally foreign concept to him, he pretended to have friends for years, didn’t he? It’s more that Seunghyun isn’t anything he’s ever encountered before and he doesn’t know what it means to be friends with him—can barely refer to him as a friend in his own head—and he hasn’t been able to make sense of why that’s such a challenge.

Tilting his head to snag Jiyong’s attention, Seunghyun asks, “Have you eaten?”

The music changes. A Smiths song he’s heard before but doesn’t remember the name of. Jiyong scrunches his nose, trying to count the hours instead of listen to the lyrics.

“Not since...five?”

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun chides and shoves lightly at his shoulder.

He scoffs. “What? I’m fine.”

But Seunghyun rolls his eyes and unfolds from his crouch, leaving the living room to go into the kitchen. Morrissey croons through the window.

“Why is your fridge always empty?” Seunghyun calls. “Do you even eat food? Are you a vampire?”

Jiyong’s lips curve and he coughs out a short laugh. “I have ramen sometimes,” he calls back. “And occasional slices from that pizza place around the corner.”

Seunghyun reappears in the doorway, leaning against it, one eyebrow raised in unspoken reprimand.

“I shudder to think what you lived on in college.”

“I’m lazy,” Jiyong mutters and lets his head hit the floor again. “Cooking for myself is depressing.”

Cotton candy creeps into his vision as Seunghyun shuffles closer, standing by his feet. “Well, I’m about to make real person food if you’re interested,” he says.

Jiyong brings his hands to his face, feeling the ache in his muscles, except the ache in his stomach is more pronounced and he can only ignore that for so long. He groans, making Seunghyun chuckle. But hunger isn’t the only thing living in his stomach, the flutter is there, too. And when Seunghyun reaches out to help him up, it starts to morph into that tiny, compact hurricane well before their hands even meet.

Because his own mother is less generous with herself than Seunghyun is. Because the idea of someone actually wanting to take care of him _is_ a foreign concept.

_Because if it’s not love, then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together_ , Morrissey sings in the background as Jiyong lets Seunghyun haul him up from the floor.

When he sways, Seunghyun steadies him—fingers warm, smile warmer. Jiyong rubs at his face again and tries to smile back, but then that same hand is smoothing over his hair and he feels his insides clench all at once. It’s a brief gesture. Brief enough that Jiyong could brush it off and forget about it, except that he doesn’t want to. Which kind of falls into the category of startling epiphany.

Clearing his throat, Seunghyun steps back and nods. Jiyong is pretty sure he’s blushing and he can’t tell if that makes it better or worse. Probably worse, because he didn’t know Seunghyun being flustered was something he’d like as much as he does. That’s not a startling epiphany. But he’s still sort of reeling when they climb out onto the fire escape.

Jiyong leaves the window cracked and follows Seunghyun up the stairs, the music steadily increasing in volume until it’s so loud it vibrates through him. He likes this one, too. “Summertime Clothes” by Animal Collective. It shouldn’t be so surprising that their taste in music overlaps and Jiyong realizes how much he missed listening to it, now that he’s surrounded by it on every side.

He hovers by the windows, watching Seunghyun jog towards the stereo to turn it down. There’s a TV mounted on the wall, painted deep red. Packed bookshelves. A gray couch and a striped loveseat and a big, lumpy chair covered in fading flowers. Posters, framed photos, the random things people collect over time. Emphasis on random.

Their apartments are identical, but he might as well be standing in another world entirely.

“I’m gonna get started,” Seunghyun says, jerking a thumb behind him at the kitchen. “Feel free to chill in here or do whatever. You like green things, right? You won’t die if you consume vegetables?”

Jiyong narrows his eyes, which earns him a brilliant, dimpled grin for the trouble.

“I’ll eat anything you make.”

Seunghyun’s grin transforms into a smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” he answers, crossing his arms.

“Don’t tempt me,” Seunghyun warns him.

And then Jiyong is alone in Seunghyun’s living room with only David Portner’s warbly voice sliding through the speakers to keep him company.

He wanders, skimming over the titles of the books, movies and records on the shelves. Studying the posters and the art and only glancing at the photos, because the happy faces remind him too much of wasted time.

Jiyong likes the austerity of the apartment he lives in. However, he also enjoys the fact that this one looks like someone hung a Seunghyun-shaped piñata in the middle of the room and then beat the shit out of it. A colorful, organized mess of thoughts and things, just like its owner. He thinks his general lack of interior decoration must say a lot about his personality.

Coming to stand in front of the windows again, Jiyong peers out at the tops of neighboring buildings and the streets that lie between them, afternoon sun hazy and pale. Seunghyun’s cooking noises carry in from the kitchen, but he’s noticing the lyrics.

_The restlessness calls us, that I cannot hide._

_So much on my mind that it spills outside._

_Do you want to go stroll down the financial street?_

_Our clothes might get soaked, but the buildings sleep._

_And there’s no one pushing for a place, let’s meander at an easy pace, and I want to walk around with you, and I want to walk around with you..._

Jiyong smiles. If Seunghyun was anyone else, it might seem accidental. He knows it’s not, and the flutter migrates North to nestle inside his ribcage.

When the song changes and he smells garlic wafting into the living room—hears it sizzle and pop on the stove—he turns away from the view, letting his tired feet carry him towards the source.

“Lana Del Rey and Billie Holiday better be on this playlist or I’m revoking your friendship card,” Jiyong says, leaning against the counter.

Seunghyun laughs and dumps a pile of sliced mushrooms into the pan. “It’s the version by Ella and Louis,” he replies, eyes dancing with humor. “Do I still get to keep my card?”

Jiyong struggles to maintain his blank expression. “I’ll consider it.”

Nodding, Seunghyun grins again, tossing Jiyong an assessing look before continuing to stir.

“So you do care about something.”

“I guess.” He shrugs. “I haven’t really been listening to much lately.”

“I can burn this for you, if you want it,” Seunghyun murmurs.

The offer is given casually, but Jiyong has a hunch he would’ve been gifted a copy regardless. He’d have said yes, either way.

“Sure.”

Seunghyun’s eyes crinkle into those satisfied starbursts as he adds green onions to the mix. Bean sprouts, carrots, broccoli, cabbage. His stomach gurgles and the crinkles return as soon as they’d smoothed out.

“By the way, there’s um, there’s gonna be a party,” Seunghyun mentions, splitting his attention between Jiyong and the food. “On Friday. Some friends of mine made me organize it, because apparently I haven’t had one in a while,” he explains, tone dry even though he’s smiling. “You’re invited. If you’re up for it. A bunch of strange, drunk people in a small space probably doesn’t sound all that appetizing. But you’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Thanks.” Jiyong curls his arms around himself and stares at the scuffed floor tiles. “I’ll see how I feel after work,” he says, and thinks he means it.

“Of course. No pressure.” Seunghyun flicks off the burner, moving to a cabinet on the other side of Jiyong to get bowls.

“I know,” he states quietly. The edges of his mouth tip upwards. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Seunghyun sighs, and that sounds apologetic enough without the accompanying words, “I’m sorry.”

Lana Del Rey’s “Summertime Sadness” chooses that exact moment to begin playing, which makes Jiyong come pretty damn close to giggling as he meets Seunghyun’s gaze, too amused to be embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he says.

In return, Seunghyun snorts out a laugh of his own.

“Okay.”

They spoon sauteed vegetables and rice into their bowls and sit at the small table next to the kitchen window. Jiyong thinks about how the last time he did this, shared a meal, shared space, was still with his mother the night before he left. He dips his fork into the bowl, spearing a piece of carrot and popping it into his mouth. As he chews, he watches Seunghyun across the table, wondering how he ended up giving the pink-haired poet all of his firsts.

“So what possessed you to make a summer themed playlist on Halloween?” Jiyong asks, taking a larger bite.

“I told you, I was bored,” Seunghyun says around his mouthful of rice. “And, I dunno, it’s been kind of a shit day.” He shrugs, suddenly fascinated by the contents of his bowl. “I needed something to cheer me up. Found myself thinking about you.”

The food doesn’t get lodged in Jiyong’s throat, but it’s touch and go for a second. He coughs. Seunghyun glances up at him and Jiyong struggles to get a grip on his bodily functions, but the heat still presses against every centimeter of skin from the inside out.

“Must be my sunny disposition,” he mutters a moment later and Seunghyun chuckles.

“Must be.”

There’s a shy smirk toying at the edges of Seunghyun’s lips. Jiyong stares at the almost-dimple denting his cheek long enough to be caught and looks away so fast, he’s amazed his eyes don’t get whiplash.

In the awkward not-quite-silence that follows, he shovels rice and mushrooms into his mouth and tries to think of something to say. Tries not to liquefy when Seunghyun’s knee connects with his under the table and stays there. Jiyong mentally kicks himself, but doesn’t pull away.

“So, why–” he starts, swallowing thickly. “Why are you having a shit day?”

Seunghyun considers him for a moment as he chews.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be nice to myself.”

“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks. He’s genuinely curious, if not a little stunned.

“Um…” Seunghyun sets his fork down, expression pensive while he drops his chin into his hands. “I guess, when I’m writing and things aren’t going very well, I can be pretty harsh. Then that inner criticism usually spreads to other aspects of my life and I kind of spiral. Because I get so wrapped up in that headspace, y'know? Even when it's good.” He shrugs, offering a wry, self-deprecating smile. “I forget to pay rent on time a lot. I forget to call people back. Sometimes I'm late for my bar shifts. It's a miracle anyone puts up with me, honestly,” Seunghyun finishes with a short laugh.

Jiyong frowns. It’s not that he thinks his inability to cope with himself or the world is unique. It’s that Seunghyun wears his heart on his sleeve and he’s never seen it be anything short of joyfully ecstatic and the fact that he isn’t, is surprisingly upsetting.

“You’re better at hiding it than I am,” he says, okay with the acknowledgment, and looks at Seunghyun directly when he adds, “But you don’t have to.”

A soft, grateful smile graces Seunghyun’s lips. “I know, it’s just...habit.”

“We can talk about it, if you want.”

“It’s okay.” Seunghyun shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing and then leaping up his forehead. “Not because I don’t wanna talk to _you_ about it, I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s just nicer. Not to.”

Jiyong might agree with that more than anything else. It’s always nicer not to, but nicer doesn’t necessarily mean right. Or healthy. Which is hilarious, that he thinks that, since he is the poster child of evading his own problems.

“I thought sad shit was your favorite thing.”

Seunghyun barks out a laugh, jostling Jiyong’s knee in retaliation.

“It’s only my favorite thing when I’m not the one who’s sad.”

That doesn’t make any sense to him. He thought misery loved company. Then Jiyong reminds himself that nothing about Seunghyun makes sense—this new piece of information least of all. It has him wondering how much of the happy-go-lucky attitude is a cover for less positive things.

“Well, your offer goes both ways,” he finds himself saying. “Just so you know.”

“Don’t worry, you’re already helping,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong feels himself blush at the warmth in Seunghyun’s voice and changes the subject.

“Do you work tonight?”

Seunghyun nods, returning to his food. “Yeah.”

“Are you dressing up?” he asks.

“Nope.”

Jiyong’s mouth quirks. “Really? I thought you’d be all about it.”

The starbursts come back and Seunghyun leans forward on the table while he finishes chewing. “A couple years ago, I decided I was enough of a character and didn’t need a costume.”

He smiles in earnest.

“Not gonna fight you on that.”

“Thanks,” Seunghyun says flatly, kicking at his foot.

“Anytime,” Jiyong replies, smiling wide enough that his cheeks twinge, and he quickly stuffs another bite into his mouth.

It’s just that Seunghyun is still staring at him—curiosity in his eyebrows, amusement everywhere else. Jiyong likes it as much as he doesn’t, because figuring out how to deal with all these feelings being thrown around is difficult. The flirting, the concern, the affection, the fact that he doesn’t like the idea of Seunghyun being sad. He’s self-aware enough to understand what’s going on here, but all the understanding in this world and the next isn’t going to save him from his own inadequacies.

Setting his fork down, Jiyong boldly returns the attention. “Why do you always look at me like you’re trying to crawl inside my head?”

“Maybe I like what’s in there,” Seunghyun counters.

He resists the pull of another smile and ducks his head, pushing at a large chunk of broccoli in his bowl.

“You’d be the only one who does,” Jiyong says.

Seunghyun nudges him with his knee again. “Pretty sure Ethan thinks you’re awesome.”

“Ethan thinks everyone is awesome.”

At his wry look, Seunghyun folds.

“Yeah, okay, you’ve got a point,” Seunghyun sighs. He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. “Do you like it so far?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Jiyong hasn’t been working there long enough to hate it yet. He hopes he never does, but with his track record, he has no reason to be optimistic. “It helps, at least. It’s easier to channel the mess into something else,” he continues. “Working at the hardware store sucked, because I couldn’t leave. So I always stalked the aisles when it was dead. Drove my cousin nuts.”

“When did you start?” Seunghyun asks.

“Being a weirdo?” Jiyong retorts and Seunghyun squints at him. He exhales a slight laugh. “Middle school.”

“Fuck, I hated middle school,” Seunghyun grumbles.

“Kids are assholes.”

“People are assholes.”

_You’re not_ , he thinks, even though he agrees. Even though he still hasn’t forgiven Seunghyun for ruining chocolate chip cookies forever. Jiyong’s fingers twirl the fork in a circle. He holds Seunghyun’s gaze for about five seconds before he can’t anymore, eating until his fork scrapes the bowl.

But, inevitably, his attention wanders.

“What are the tattoos on your fingers?” Jiyong asks, after a month of wondering.

Seunghyun smiles and lays his hands on the table. “The astrological symbols for the sun, the moon, and the planets,” he explains, then lifts his right hand, revealing an eleventh symbol inked into the outside of his wrist. “Pluto’s over here. Poor guy.”

Jiyong laughs.

“I’ve never really been into the whole divination aspect of astrology, but the mythology and the history behind it is super fascinating. Plus space is just really awesome.” Seunghyun’s eyes glow, betraying the nonchalance in his voice as he points to another tattoo lining the inside of his right forearm. “I also have the moon cycle here, and the constellation for Scorpio on my shoulder.”

“What about the others?” Jiyong prods, reluctantly giving the flutter more ammunition.

“Words. Some my own, some from poets far greater than I will ever be,” Seunghyun says and cards a hand through his hair, listing more. “Flowers, art, geometrical designs. I dunno, there are a ton. I’ve lost count.”

Without allowing himself the time to think about it, he reaches over to take Seunghyun’s left forearm and pull it closer, studying the narrow black and white band—delicate linework shaping flowers out of negative space, the rest solid. “I like this one,” Jiyong murmurs.

“Um, yeah–” Seunghyun clears his throat, muscles twitching in Jiyong’s grasp. “A friend did that for me a few years ago. It’s one of my favorites.”

He traces the elegant lines with the pad of his index finger, mesmerized by the level of detail despite the simplicity of the design. Mesmerized by the way it stands out against the beautiful, golden color of Seunghyun’s skin.

Jiyong comes back to himself and flushes so violently, he’d probably blend right in with Seunghyun’s living room wall.

“Sorry,” he almost whispers, letting go and crossing his arms tight across his chest.

“No,” Seunghyun sighs. His cheeks are flushed, too. “It’s cool.”

Jiyong’s everything prickles with embarrassment. He can’t believe he did that. Another glance at Seunghyun tells him he can’t, either, and before he can say or do anything else totally mortifying, Seunghyun picks up their bowls and takes them to the sink.

The itch crawls up his legs like overgrown weeds. Jiyong is way too out of it for walking, but removing himself to the far less dangerous and Seunghyun-free apartment downstairs would be a step in the right direction.

“Thanks for feeding me,” he says, rising from his chair. “It was great.”

“My pleasure.” Seunghyun gives him a bashful smile and dries off his hands. “I usually cook too much for one person, anyway.”

It’s probably safe to say that means there will be more in his immediate future. Jiyong nods and manages to get his face to cooperate for a little bit longer, lips curving, even if it feels like a strain.

“I should get back.”

Seunghyun chews on his lip. “You can stay, if you want,” he rumbles, soft and easy.

“I know.” Jiyong tucks his hands into his armpits; stares at the scuffed floor tiles. “But I’m pretty wiped.”

“Right, of course. I forgot,” Seunghyun laughs unsteadily.

And in a moment of he doesn’t fucking know what, Jiyong nudges into Seunghyun with his shoulder as he passes, walking out of the kitchen. He appreciates that Seunghyun doesn’t follow him when he climbs out the window and flees down the fire escape stairs.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Sometime during the night, Jiyong wakes up and can’t fall asleep again.

His phone tells him it’s after three. He spends twenty minutes drilling a hole into the orange tinted ceiling with his eyes. Then he rolls out from under the warmth of his blankets and gets dressed, because if he’s not going to sleep, he might as well do something besides lie there.

Three thirty-five in the morning on the first of November is antarctic. Jiyong rifles through his still-packed suitcase, fending off the layer of goosebumps on his skin with layers of cotton. His winter coat is in a box somewhere and he doesn’t have the patience to hunt it down, so he tugs on a thick sweater and his hoodie and goes into the foyer to slip his feet into his shoes. If he takes the fire escape instead of the front door, he doesn’t give it any weight. Though maybe he should, since his thoughts seem perpetually crowded by Seunghyun.

Jiyong walks. He doesn’t have to think too hard about which streets to take, since this early he’s alone almost everywhere. Some taxis ferry the Halloween stragglers home or to their next destination. Some morning shift workers are just leaving their apartments. But the city is otherwise placid compared to its usual state.

He’s not sure which version he likes best, because the frantic hum of the day is easy to dive into. Here, in the blue-gray twilight, he’s so conscious of his own existence he has no choice but to accept it as fact.

His phone tells him it’s after five. He stops in a small neighborhood park to look at the lightening sky through brown leaves. Or the few brown leaves clinging to their branches while they can. Jiyong watches them dance in the frigid morning air, unable to ignore the flutter that hasn’t left him yet.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see them dancing. He also sees the distorted beginnings of something—a life, a future—that isn’t his, but could be. If he wanted it bad enough. If he remembered how to.

Jiyong opens his eyes and blinks against the growing brightness, rubbing at his cold face with colder fingers. He thinks he could learn again. Maybe. If he wanted it bad enough.

His phone tells him it’s five twenty-two. He thinks about all the ways Seunghyun looks at him—all the ways Seunghyun tries to reach him, wanting to make contact. Jiyong pulls his hood up over his head and tries to want that, too. Lord knows no one else has ever cared.

When he climbs the fire escape again, the sun is just beginning to rise behind the wall of gray, painting the clouds in muted pink and gold. There’s another capsule on the windowsill, bigger than all the others have been. Jiyong smiles, glancing up at Seunghyun’s window through the grate as he cracks it open. A pair of those shitty, plastic vampire fangs fall out into his palm and he can’t stop himself, he _laughs_. So hard that he almost drops them and has to sit down on the steps, convulsing more than he’s making sound.

It’s really not even that funny, but it’s after six in the morning and Jiyong gasps for air—light-headed and empty save for the ache in his stomach and the way his heart feels too big as it strains against his ribcage.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


**[Sent: Nov 1 6:48AM]**

where did you come from?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 7:52AM]**

My family’s been asking that

same question since the day

I was born. No one knows :)

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 7:53AM]**

Why are you up so early?

**[Sent Nov 1 7:53AM]**

couldn’t sleep anymore, went

for a walk

**[Sent: Nov 1 7:54AM]**

why are you still awake?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 7:54AM]**

Couldn’t sleep.

**[Sent: Nov 1 7:59AM]**

the diner on riverside has

pretty good coffee

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]**

Are you inviting me out for

breakfast?

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]**

yeah

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]**

i owe you

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:01AM]**

You don’t owe me shit, but

the day I turn down waffles

is the day I die. Probably not

even then.

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:01AM]**

zombies don’t eat waffles

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:02AM]**

I will be the first zombie that

does.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:02AM]**

Meet you outside in a few

minutes?

**[Sent: Nov 1 8:03AM]**

yeah

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


“Do you need more syrup? I’m not sure those waffles have suffocated enough.”

Seunghyun grins. “Are you judging me?”

“A little bit,” Jiyong says, grimacing when Seunghyun takes a huge bite of what has to be the soggiest waffle in the known universe. “Seriously, how can you eat that?”

“With abundant happiness,” Seunghyun mumbles, mouth full.

He snorts and then sips at his coffee.

“You are so weird.”

Washing down the sugar overdose with a glass of orange juice, Seunghyun licks his lips, pointing at Jiyong with his fork. “That’s why we make a great team,” he says.

Jiyong’s eyebrow ticks upwards. “We’re a team now?”

“Yeah.” Seunghyun nods, cramming more disintegrating waffle into his smirking mouth. “Like Bert and Ernie.”

“Okay,” he huffs, an answering smile pulling insistently at his cheeks. “I’m assuming you’re Ernie.”

“Naturally.”

Then, without preamble, the singing starts—faint but unmistakable.

“Rubber duckie, joy of joys. When I squeeze you, you make noise. Rubber duckie, you’re my very best friend, it’s true,” Seunghyun warbles before he even finishes chewing.

Whether it’s the perfectly imperfect replication of Jim Henson’s off-key voice or Seunghyun’s painfully sincere expression while doing it, Jiyong doesn’t know. But he does come very close to inhaling his coffee—slumping onto the table with a hand pressed to his face while he cracks up.

He feels like he’s losing his mind.

Seunghyun puts the silverware down and stares at Jiyong with wonder twinkling in his eyes.

“Did something happen to you on your walk? Because I have never seen you laugh like that.”

“Sort of,” he chuckles, flopping against the back of the booth with a sigh. He can’t look at Seunghyun, so he looks out the windows, pushing his hair off of his forehead and definitely not noticing that their shoes are touching.

“Well, whatever it was, I hope it happens again,” Seunghyun says.

“Yeah,” he agrees, watching a dead leaf fall from the tree outside, then get swept up by the wind. “Me too, Ernie.”

In his periphery, Seunghyun melts into a puddle of hiccupped laughter, and Jiyong stops pretending that his too-big heart isn’t wheezing with reluctant affection.

* * *

a/n: the playlist seunghyun makes can be found on spotify ♥♥♥ [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/08zG4baF2wwAzSHxOqiFgF) ♥♥♥


	3. part  3

Friday evening, The Black Cat Cafe hums with low-level activity, only a handful of occupied chairs and the intermittent walk in. Jiyong doesn’t mind. Mostly because it gives Ethan an excuse to talk to him instead of order him around, which should mean that hell is about freeze over—choosing conversation over silence. But this feels more like the result of boredom than a discussion.

“ What’s your favorite color?”

“ Red,” Jiyong answers and Ethan arches an eyebrow at him from his perch on the counter.

“ Favorite food?”

“ Don’t have one.”

“ Favorite song,” Ethan tries.

He shrugs, scrunching up his face as he cocks his hip against the register. “I don’t have one of those, either. But “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” by David Bowie comes close.”

Crossing his arms, Ethan nods once and keeps staring him down, like every answer he gives is life or death.

“ Movie?”

“ The Fifth Element,” Jiyong replies easily.

“ Ice cream flavor,” Ethan prompts.

“ Is there a reason you’ve transformed into a walking, talking personality quiz?” he asks.

Both of Ethan’s eyebrows raise, defensive. “A guy can’t be curious?”

“ Because having a preference for chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream really says a lot about the inner workings of my psyche,” Jiyong replies flatly.

Ethan chuckles and sighs.

“ Well, if you’d said bubblegum, I probably would’ve fired you.”

“ He’s not kidding,” Becca calls from the storeroom.

Jiyong smiles, but before he can say anything else, the front door opens and a deep, familiar voice travels through the cafe.

“ Greetings, friends!”

“ Sylvia!” Ethan cheers, throwing his hands up in celebration.

Throaty laughter erupts behind him. Jiyong turns. At this point he should be used to the way Seunghyun’s entire being explodes when he grins, but every time, it’s kind of like having the sun come down from the sky to punch him right in the face. The thing is, at this point, he should also probably start admitting to himself that he likes being punched in the face.

Seunghyun leans on the opposite side of the counter and Jiyong smiles again, because those explosions are often contagious.

“ Hey.”

“ Hi,” Seunghyun replies softly, eyes crinkling. “How are you?”

“ All right,” he answers. “You?”

“ As of this exact moment, pretty fantastic,” Seunghyun says.

Maybe it’s just the heat blasting from the vents that’s making him feel fuzzy. Maybe it’s just his imagination that the cafe noises seem more distant now. And maybe it’s the way Seunghyun is looking at him—a low burning candle flame, more heat than light.

Jiyong blushes regardless of the reason and he’s glad he doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, Ethan choosing that moment to crash into his space. With his puppy dog exuberance and inherent need to be obnoxious. Jiyong’s heart doesn’t jolt anymore, but the arm flung around his shoulders is still taking some getting used to.

“ Shouldn’t you be at home, replacing the entire contents of your apartment with booze?” Ethan asks and Seunghyun snorts.

“ Did that earlier.”

“ Snacks?” Ethan inquires further.

“ Jackie’s on snacks,” Seunghyun answers.

“ Snacky Jackie, got it.” Sliding away from Jiyong, Ethan goes to retrieve his coffee cup. “Is she bringing her douchebag boyfriend again?”

“ I don’t know, I don’t think they’re dating anymore?”

“ Thank christ,” Ethan groans into the ceramic mug.

Seunghyun laughs, then squints down at Jiyong. “See? Not everyone is awesome,” he says, reaching over to nudge him slightly.

Jiyong’s mouth quirks and he ducks his head, letting out an amused huff.

“ Are you still undecided about coming by later?”

“ No.” He looks up. “I’ll make an appearance.”

“ Cool,” Seunghyun answers, nodding.

The casual expression on Seunghyun’s face would be more believable if his eyes weren’t broadcasting his elation like tiny, brown beacons. Jiyong isn’t used to that, either—being the inspiration for someone else’s light. But he’s working on that, too.

“ So,” Ethan pops their bubble a second time. Probably on purpose. “Coffee, no coffee…”

“ Did you teach him?” Seunghyun asks, pointing at Jiyong.

Ethan scoffs. “ _ Duh _ , man,” he replies, turning towards Jiyong and offering his best shit-eating grin. “Go on little bird, spread your wings.”

He rolls his eyes. Ethan’s bell-laughter tinkles after him, but he tunes out whatever conversation the two of them ease into, more interested in finding the right beans for the job.

Because of course Seunghyun’s usual isn’t just a normal, single brewed cup with a pump of toffee flavored syrup. That would be too easy. No, this asshole had to concoct a drink that was a delicate blend of three origin coffees—Sumatran, Peruvian, and one from a private estate in Puerto Rico that Ethan special orders for “valued customers”. Jiyong thinks Ethan spoils his friends. But Jiyong also thinks that if anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s Seunghyun. Even though he would never admit it and this drink still makes Seunghyun an asshole.

“ You’re being watched,” Becca says, standing next to him at the counter while he measures out beans to grind.

“ By Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum?” Jiyong asks.

She laughs and hands him fresh filters. “Which is which?”

“ Take a wild guess.”

“ Well, they’re both watching now, but Tweedle Dee’s the only one with the dopey grin.”

He can see her smirking from the corner of his eye while he works.

“ I’m glad you knew Tweedle Dum was Ethan,” Jiyong tells her, instead of commenting.

“ Pretty sure even Ethan knows Tweedle Dum is Ethan,” Becca retorts and he smiles, taking the pour-over cone when she offers it, relieved that she doesn’t keep teasing him about dopey grins and who they belong to.

Jiyong folds the filter along the seam, sets it in the brewing cone, doesn’t listen to the animated sound of Seunghyun’s words as he falls into his own rhythm.

“ You coming to the party later?” Becca asks a few minutes later, observing as he brews the second coffee.

He nods and focuses on pouring the hot water in tight, concentric circles. “Yeah.”

“ Tweedle Dee must be very pleased.”

“ I live downstairs, it’s not like we never see each other,” Jiyong mutters.

Ethan bursts into cackles behind them, accompanied by Seunghyun’s dorky, hiccupped chuckling. Becca tilts her head and raises a pointed eyebrow.

“ That right there?” she says, jerking her chin. “That wasn’t a common occurrence until a month ago. You make that kid light up like every day is Christmas morning.” Becca leans in even closer. “And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been pretty damn luminous yourself.”

“ Luminous, huh?” Jiyong casts her a wry glance. His grip falters slightly as he pours, but the rest of his teetering remains internal.

“ Comparatively speaking.”

He snorts. “That wouldn’t take much.”

Sighing, Becca pokes him in the ribs. “It’s still nice to see you have facial expressions,” she insists.

Just to spite her, Jiyong keeps his expression neutral and sets the kettle down, gently stirring the remaining liquid with a spoon. She exhales a laugh.

“ Very funny.”

Jiyong cracks another smile and Becca shakes her head, leaving him to go help a new customer. He peers at the flat layer of wet coffee grounds, vaguely proud of himself for doing well twice in a row. In the background, Ethan and Seunghyun start giggling again, and he uses the brief moment of almost solitude to, as Seunghyun put it, quietly lose his shit.

In a good way, more than a bad way. Because he’s only been working here for two weeks. Because he’s constantly bewildered by the way some people accept new bodies into their lives, like making friends is as simple as a handshake or a hello. Jiyong used to know how to do that. Or fake it, at least.

This is different.

Discarding the used filter, he pours the second coffee, rinses the brewing cone and the range server, and starts over. He listens now. To the low tones of a conversation he can’t actually hear—to the cadence of their voices and Becca’s ringing amusement as she trades small talk with someone she’s never met before. Jiyong thinks about how quickly things can change. And about connections, the way they mean different things to different people. The ability others have to feel affection for things unknown.

By the time he’s finished brewing all three coffees, his head is too full. Maybe he’ll go for a walk instead of going straight back to the apartment. Maybe Ethan will let him take another break, just to loop around the block and find some order.

Jiyong slides the takeaway cup into a sleeve and wanders over to the end of the counter. He sets the coffee down before Seunghyun’s sunrise face can make him wobble and pushes his fingers through his hair, still feeling like he's too many things.

“ If we weren’t friends, I’d hate you on principle for coming up with this.”

Seunghyun beams. “It’s his fault.”

“ How is it my fault?” Ethan demands.

“ You’re the one who wanted to experiment.”

“ It’s my  _ job _ to experiment,” Ethan argues, narrowing his eyes. “You just wanted the free coffee whenever I fucked up.”

“ Which is how this magic happened. And I regret absolutely nothing,” Seunghyun says. He drinks from the cup, dimples curved into his cheeks on either side, and Jiyong watches. Half out of nerves and half due to a deep-seated sense of masochism.

Seunghyun lowers the coffee, licking his lips.

“ It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Jiyong releases the breath he was holding and an unsteady laugh sneaks out beside it.

“ You’re welcome.”

Then Ethan squeezes his shoulder, like he always does whenever he thinks Jiyong needs assurance. “Well done,” he says, the loud and obnoxious replaced by gentle and genuine, followed by the older man’s hand scratching at the back of Jiyong’s head.

Across from him, Seunghyun glows on his behalf. Next to him, Ethan radiates pride. When he goes to clean his workspace, Becca tosses him an enthusiastic thumbs up from the other end of the counter.

Too full, Jiyong thinks, was an inadequate choice of words.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


The repetitive movement of his feet do very little to alter how he feels. If anything, he feels like he always does. Like nothing. And he wishes that wasn’t such an easy skin to slip back into when there are good things happening all around him. When he has reasons to be happy, or something approaching happy. He just can’t figure out how to make it stick.

Jiyong threads himself into the constant motion of the city, trying to find that order. His chest seems tight and the flutter is there, but it’s the kind of flutter he knows is born of anxiety and not restlessness. Because he’s nervous about the party. About the way his body and his mouth remember how to act, when the rest of him is clueless and awkward and lost. Jiyong has never understood why it’s so easy to pretend. To say the things other people want to hear even though he hates himself for doing it. With Seunghyun and Ethan and Becca, it’s not easy, but he’s okay with it now. He knows how to navigate that and he’s even getting better at navigating shallow interactions with strangers. It’s just that those strangers leave after a few minutes and Jiyong still isn’t used to conversations being actual conversations.

Pausing at an intersection, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looks up. Dim twilight pushes against the outlines of the buildings—against the orange streetlamps and the sea of glaring headlights. Jiyong inhales and then exhales. The signal changes. He stares down at the pavement and watches his feet fall in and out of sync with the other feet crowding the sidewalk.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


When Jiyong gets back to the apartment, there are already multiple pairs of footsteps creaking across the floorboards upstairs. Music blaring loud enough that it pulses in the walls and doesn’t let him forget that he’s supposed to go up there at some point. He picks out the sounds of laughter over synth-heavy indie pop he’s probably heard before, wondering why he always makes this so hard for himself. Or why it’s even hard at all.

Head falling to rest on his drawn up knees, Jiyong checks his phone in the dark of the living room, squinting against the brightness.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 4 9:13PM]**

Are you home? I came down

to look, but it was dark.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 4 10:37PM]**

If you’re not actually up for

this, it’s cool.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 4 10:37PM]**

Just let me know, otherwise

I’m gonna worry about you

all night.

He smiles. It’s not that he isn’t. It’s that seeing Seunghyun might not compensate for how much this is inevitably going to suck. Except Jiyong would be lying if he told himself it wasn’t worth it. Even for just a little bit.

**[Sent: Nov 4 10:45PM]**

i’ll be up in a min. call off the

search party

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 4 10:46PM]**

Yesssss :D

The flutter does that thing where it turns into a tiny, compact hurricane the second he opens the living room window and hears voices swimming in the night air above him. Jiyong climbs out onto the fire escape, closes the window behind him, starts putting one foot in front of the other. Seunghyun’s apartment is warm and alive and he forces himself not to retreat at the sight of so many unfamiliar faces.

_ I can do this and not be a mess for once _ .

No one notices when he climbs inside. The window was already open and Jiyong wonders if Seunghyun left it like that just for him. It’s a thought that only makes the flutter worse, but he swallows it down and follows the sound of Seunghyun’s deep baritone into the kitchen, ignoring the curious looks thrown his way.

“ ... _ then _ he tells me he’s a space pirate and that his crew left him here on earth a hundred years ago,” Seunghyun chuckles, leaning against his counter as he talks to the small group of friends clustered around him. “Apparently he’s been trying to get back to his home planet ever since. I swear to god, I am not making this shit up .”

The others laugh, too. Seunghyun grins and takes a sip of his beer, looking totally comfortable as the center of attention. The ball of light everyone orbits around, like a small galaxy of moths.

Jiyong feels his own lips quirk at the corners while he observes from the doorway. Even though a strange flare of envy fills the pit of his stomach at the same time.

“ What did you say his name was?” a tall, blonde girl asks.

“ Captain Crookshanks.”

“ Isn’t that Hermione’s cat from Harry Potter?”

Seunghyun nods once. “Yes.”

They dissolve into more laughter, another girl blurting, “I seriously need to meet this guy.”

“ He’s at Willow Street almost every night,” Seunghyun says. “Sits on the last stool at the bar, looks like Gandalf’s alcoholic twin brother. You can’t miss him.”

Jiyong snorts quietly, but Seunghyun still manages to hear it through the noise, because his head jerks to the side and suddenly Jiyong is on the receiving end of another atomic bomb. He attempts a real smile in return, even laughing a bit as Seunghyun maneuvers around his friends to get to him as quickly as possible.

“ Hey,” Seunghyun greets, standing close.

“ Hi,” Jiyong replies and immediately feels his cheeks go hot. Because for a split second he thought about hugging Seunghyun, which is an urge he’s not accustomed to having.

“ Glad you made it.”

He lets out a huff. “It would’ve been shitty if I stayed downstairs.”

Seunghyun shrugs, that brilliant grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “I probably would’ve gotten over it. Eventually.”

Jiyong sighs.

“ You up for some introductions?” Seunghyun asks and gestures with his beer bottle at the rest of the apartment. “I mean, you’re welcome to find a corner to hide in–”

Instinctively, Jiyong’s hand lifts to hit Seunghyun in the arm, cutting him off and making him chuckle. He doesn’t think about why this is significant.

“ I’m fine,” he insists. “Lead the way.”

With a smile that’s too sweet, Seunghyun does—long fingers curling around Jiyong’s shoulder and that deep rumble at his back as he dives into the first house party experience he’s had since college.

The hardest part is always remembering names. But if he can associate each name with something concrete, it’s not as stressful. He learns that the tall blonde is Ashley. The second girl, Zahra, has purple streaks in her dark hair and a septum ring. The third is Katherine, her arms covered in sleeve tattoos that look like Escher’s tessellations. And Ben has this mole on his cheek that reminds him of Marilyn Monroe.

They all seem to be in their late twenties. All inked and pierced and dressed in carefully curated outfits. Animated faces, big laughs, an ease of being that Jiyong is pretty sure he could never fake, even if he wanted to. A knock at the door draws Seunghyun away and he tells himself he’s not nervous as all four turn to him with inquisitive eyes.

“ So, when did you move in?” Ashley asks, sipping at her drink.

“ A month ago.”

“ Do you like it here?” Zahra asks next.

“ Yeah,” Jiyong answers, glancing from face to face before ducking his head. “I think so.”

Zahra’s silver-ringed hand reaches out to rub his arm and his heart skips. “It’s okay, the first few months are always strange,” she says, dark red lips curling kindly. “You’re from a small town, right?”

He nods. Zahra uses the same hand to whack Ben in the chest.

“ See? We’re not weird, you asshole,” she grins and Ben grimaces.

“ How, um, how could you tell?” Jiyong asks.

Undeserved warmth emanates from her smile.

“ I know a kindred crushed spirit when I see one. Suburbia leaves its mark on all of us.”

This draws a scoff of laughter from Ashley and Katherine and the three girls clink beer bottles in unspoken commiseration while Ben stands there shaking his head. Jiyong’s mouth twitches, the flutter twisting oddly in his stomach.

“ I grew up in the big, bad urban jungle, which apparently means I’m incapable of understanding their pain,” Ben elaborates.

Ashley pinches his cheek and pouts. “You poor little city boy.”

The others laugh. Ben rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. Jiyong looks across the lopsided circle at Zahra and finds himself wondering what she sees—her pretty face crinkling with friendliness, some silent moment exchanged between them that ends as soon as it began.

Then Katherine settles a hand at his back. “We need to get you a drink,” she states, shouting over them to the group of people still huddled near the front door, “Seunghyun, you’re a terrible host!”

“ Excuse me?” Seunghyun almost squawks, working his way towards them. He’s wearing a headband with a little foam crown, pink hair pushed back, and Jiyong tries to stop thinking about how attractive his forehead is.

“ Jiyong is boozeless, you’re not doing your job,” Katherine accuses.

Placing a palm over his chest, Seunghyun immediately drops to one knee right there in the middle of the kitchen. “I humbly beg your forgiveness,” he pleads and reaches out to take Jiyong’s hand in both of his.

For a moment, he’s not sure how to react, his pulse spiking at the contact. But Seunghyun’s eyes are soft, just like his fingers, and Jiyong thinks about the likelihood of spontaneous combustion instead.

“ Is that your official birthday crown?” Zahra asks.

He frowns. Seunghyun winces.

“ Why didn’t you tell me?” Jiyong asks, brow furrowing.

“ I don’t like to make a big deal out of it?” Seunghyun answers, shrugging, still holding onto his hand. “And I definitely don’t want anyone buying me more shit. The party was this one’s idea.”

Zahra heaves a sigh.

“ Because you deserve to be celebrated and everyone loves an excuse to get drunk.”

Seunghyun laughs. “No one here has ever needed an excuse.”

When Zahra can’t argue that point, Seunghyun laughs harder and then lurches up from the floor, tugging Jiyong over to the fridge. Fingers get swapped out for an icy, glass bottle and Seunghyun’s eyebrows are already apologizing before he can get the word out.

“ Sorry.”

Jiyong shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“ Yeah?” Seunghyun asks, looking skeptical as he closes the refrigerator.

“ Yeah,” he assures. “But for the record, I wouldn’t have made a big deal.”

Seunghyun laughs again, quieter this time, and nods. “I know.”

The flutter starts turning into the itch the longer they stand there looking at each other and Jiyong has to make a conscious effort to ignore it. This is okay. He’s okay. He even manages another smile, taking the bottle opener and pretending the cap popping off doesn’t sound like the final nail in his coffin.

“ C’mon,” Seunghyun says after Jiyong downs his first swig of beer. “Some friends from the bar just showed up and I think you’d really like them.”

He follows, because he wants to see how far he can push himself before saying “no”. Because he never does that and he’s tired of hiding, even though a large part of him would rather be downstairs right now.

It’s okay, he thinks. He’s been here before, he can do it again.

Seunghyun sticks to his side this time, his arm occasionally brushing against Jiyong’s, and Jiyong is relatively certain he’s doing it on purpose. Not that he minds. It’s easier to focus with Seunghyun there—to not feel bad about the fact that he isn't talking very much, because he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he does. Which he has no rational explanation for, since he isn’t actually afraid of being honest. First impressions just make Jiyong anxious. No one wants a total stranger dumping their baggage all over you somewhere between “hello” and “what kind of music do you listen to, man?”.

Three beers later, the talking thing isn’t as scary. He could attribute that to the alcohol, but it’s probably more that most of Seunghyun’s friends are absurdly nice. Of course they are, right? Jiyong would expect nothing less from the sun personified, and with every new person he meets, those tendrils of jealousy continue to grow. Because maybe he wants to know what that’s like. Being the thing others gravitate towards.

What surprises him, though, is learning that most of the people in this apartment are stumbling through life just as much as he is. Drowning in debt, working jobs they hate, trying to carve out their place in a world that will never make sense. And yet here—in the safety of this moment—they all smile like they couldn’t be happier.

Jiyong isn’t on the same level. But he might be able to want it bad enough one day.

After a while, Seunghyun stops chaperoning him around the room. Which is fine. Jiyong was thinking about leaving soon, anyway, and he leans against the wall next to Seunghyun’s bedroom door by himself. The apartment is warm with body heat and something he can’t describe, but he sees it written on every face as his eyes wander.

College was never like this. Or at least his version wasn’t. Jiyong wonders if it’s different because they’re all a little older, a little worse for wear, or if it’s because Seunghyun attracts the kind of people who are actually worth knowing. He realizes this makes him worth knowing by association and isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“ Hey, you,” Zahra chirps, pushing through the crowd to slouch on the wall beside him. “Everything cool?”

Jiyong sighs. “I don’t know.”

She leans to the right and their shoulders press together. It could be the beer, but it doesn’t bother him.

“ That’s okay.”

He nods, glancing over at her.

“ What about you?”

“ I’ve surpassed my party threshold, but I figure I’m overdue, since I never leave my apartment,” Zahra answers dryly and Jiyong smiles without hesitation.

There’s a pause. Someone changes the music, Daft Punk’s “One More Time” blasting from the speakers. His smile widens and Zahra laughs and even washed out by the noise, it sounds comforting. Hot coffee on a cold day. Or hot coffee on any day, really. Jiyong almost wishes he could hear it better, but then he’d be missing out on the impromptu dance party currently taking over the living room. The bass throbs in his chest and the flutter swells. Not in anxiety, just in fascination, because he’s pretty sure he’s never experienced this before.

It isn’t until Zahra starts shaking with amusement that he notices Seunghyun in the middle of everything, flailing around his living room like one of those inflatable tube men at a car dealership. Jiyong’s cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much.

“ God, what a fucking dork,” Zahra wheezes, still cracking up.

“ Yeah, he is,” Jiyong agrees. The music cuts into the breakdown, everyone singing along at the top of their lungs. Everyone infected by the intensity of Seunghyun’s energy. “But the world would be even more depressing without him in it.”

A few weeks ago, he might have shocked himself with that admission, even though he’s been thinking it for a while now. Seunghyun spots them against the wall when the beat picks up again and waves and Jiyong decides right then that he meant every word.

“ How did you two meet, anyway?” he asks, holding his beer to his cheek in a futile attempt to calm the fire under his skin.

“ School.” Zahra grins and wipes delicately at the corners of her eyes. “We were both poetry majors. Talk about perfectly useless degrees.”

Jiyong’s mouth quirks. “I dropped out my Junior year, so I understand.”

“ What did you study?”

“ General Liberal Arts.” He lifts his bottle in mock-salute. “Firmly in the category of useless degrees.”

“ Doesn’t that just make you more well-rounded?” she asks.

“ I always thought it meant I was indecisive,” he replies.

They exchange a brief look as the music fades and shifts into something more mellow, then inexplicably dissolve into giggles, like Jiyong just cracked the funniest joke ever. It leaves him light-headed—reminds him of the vampire teeth and then the diner and he swears he’s never laughed this much in his life. Never had to use someone else to hold himself up.

Zahra links their arms and leans into him as she sighs through another chuckle. Jiyong wonders if that’s all it takes. A shared moment of stupidity and suddenly you’re friends forever.

“ He talks about you a lot, by the way,” Zahra mentions once she's caught her breath. “He was super nervous about tonight, because he was afraid you weren’t gonna enjoy yourself.”

“ Crisis averted,” Jiyong says, blushing again, and she huffs out another laugh. He doesn’t know what to do with that information.

“ I kind of hate parties, honestly.”

Jiyong arches an eyebrow. “Didn’t you organize this one?”

“ Yep.” Zahra nods, giving him a lopsided smile. “But Seunghyun is worth suffering for.”

He can’t disagree, since that’s also why he’s here, and he gives her a lopsided smile of his own. Jiyong’s theories of Seunghyun being a celestial object are starting to seem way less ridiculous.

“ Zahra!” a familiar voice shouts over the music, followed by Ethan himself. “So nice to see you outside of your cave.”

“ Ha ha,” she replies flatly, but still goes in for a bear hug when Ethan holds his arms out.

“ Where have you been hiding?” Jiyong asks.

“ Just got here,” Ethan grins, reaching up to ruffle Jiyong’s hair. “Where’s birthday boy? I need to punch him in the arm twenty-eight times.”

Zahra and Jiyong both point at the other side of the room and Ethan rubs his hands together in barely restrained excitement as he turns around.

“ Hey, Sylvia! Guess what?”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Seunghyun blurts, panicked, already trying to run away. “You fucker, you promised!”

“ I feel like we should’ve warned him first,” Jiyong mumbles and Zahra snorts.

More laughter echoes throughout the apartment when Seunghyun stumbles around his friends to escape Ethan’s clutches, but it’s not like the apartment is very big. They disappear into the kitchen, Seunghyun’s shouts of protest transforming into delirious cackles. He smiles again.

“ So, how do you know Ethan?” Zahra asks.

Jiyong shrugs. “He’s my boss.”

Her eyes go wide and she shoves at his shoulder. “No way, you work at Black Cat? I’m totally coming by to harass you.”

“ What happened to never leaving your apartment?”

“ I’m making an exception,” Zahra retorts, pulling her phone from her back pocket. “What’s your number? We can hang out after work and be hermits together.”

She enters the password, hands it over, then immediately rakes her fingers through her long hair like this is a big deal. And it kind of is, because Jiyong stares down at the screen for a beat or two before doing anything. He taps the address book and remembers all the times he did this at bars and house parties and how it never meant anything. It was a courtesy. Like accepting friend requests on Facebook from people he knew he’d never see outside of lecture halls or the dorms.

Jiyong saves his contact info and hands it back. Zahra’s lips curl into the shyest smile as she sends him a text, the telltale vibrations going off in his own pocket. This feels like popping the cap off of the beer bottle. Another act of defiance against the apathy and the itch. He can’t say he’s upset about that.

“ Text me this weekend and we’ll figure it out,” Zahra says, beaming now.

“ Cool.” Jiyong breathes out an anxious laugh and the next thing he knows, she’s got her arms wrapped around him, catching him off-guard.

Eventually, he works past the alarm and his pounding heart to reciprocate. Zahra’s thumb rubs into the material of his hoodie, her chin hooked over his shoulder. Jiyong exhales and can’t not think about the last time someone hugged him.

Five years ago. The last day of classes. A cursory embrace from his roommate as he walked out of the dorms. His mom didn’t even touch him the night before he moved away.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


At two in the morning, Jiyong decides that he’s done pushing himself. Zahra went home shortly after hugging him, anyway, and he doesn’t really want to talk anymore. Unless it’s with Seunghyun, but even that feels like it might be too much.

He avoids saying goodbye, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way, because he’s never been good at that. Except he’s not alone when he climbs through the window onto the fire escape.

“ How’s your arm?” Jiyong asks.

Seunghyun whirls around, broad smile stretching across his face. “Really sore,” he laughs. “But I got a few good punches in, too.”

Jiyong snorts. He’s sure Ethan deserved it.

“ I think I’m gonna head down,” he says, uncomfortable now that he can hear his own voice so clearly, and stuffs his hands into the pouch of his hoodie.

Seunghyun’s smile wilts a little bit. “Okay.”

“ I had a good time, though,” Jiyong continues. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking out at the sprawling city lights. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“ Zahra’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”

“ Yeah,” he answers, lips twitching. “We exchanged numbers. We’re probably gonna do something next week.”

“ Man, that makes me so happy,” Seunghyun gushes as he steps away from the railing. “Two of my favorite people hanging out is seriously the best feeling.”

Jiyong peers up at him, finding it difficult to make eye-contact when Seunghyun’s expression is so obviously fond. Fondness for him. He clears his throat, daring to push his luck.

“ You really mean that?”

“ Of course I do. You’re the Bert to my Ernie, bonds like that can’t be broken,” Seunghyun answers matter-of-factly.

If Jiyong was standing in front of anyone else, he’d have a hard time believing those words, but he’s not. He’s standing in front of Seunghyun—alien starchild from another dimension, who would rather lose a limb than be insincere.

A cold breeze whips through the alley then, making them both shiver, and Jiyong grins, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Doesn’t know how to express his gratitude or how much he wants what’s being offered, despite feeling ill-equipped to receive it. Maybe that’ll change. He hopes that it does.

Seunghyun stares at him for a moment, seeming to make his mind up about something as he takes another step closer, brows already raised in the question he hasn't asked yet.

“ Can I make an official birthday request before you go?”

Jiyong's grin returns with a vengeance. “Sure.”

“ Can I hug you?” Seunghyun asks.

And just like that, all of his internal organs feel like they're desperately trying to flee from the confines of his body. Jiyong breathes in and then out. He's not losing his shit, exactly, he's just processing. It should be disconcerting that this is happening twice in the same night, right? The only difference being that Seunghyun asked instead of acted and now Jiyong has bonus time to psych himself out.

“ You can say no,” Seunghyun offers, already looking like he regrets opening his mouth in the first place.

“ No, it's fine.” He rocks onto the balls of his feet, nervous. “You can-- You can hug me.”

“ You're sure?”

Jiyong rolls his eyes. “Yes, Seunghyun.”

This shouldn't be such a production and yet here they are, playing metaphorical Jenga with each other's feelings because Jiyong is defective and Seunghyun is too nice.

Seunghyun laughs and nods and then moves in what seems like slow motion—his hands skimming the length of Jiyong’s arms before gently drawing him in. The way his body responds is almost automatic. Like he knows where he's supposed to fit, even though they’ve never been here.

Jiyong's heart pounds in his ears and he lets his eyes drift shut, some of the city noises and party sounds filtering through the panic. He breathes in and then out. Seunghyun holds him tighter. Jiyong lets himself soak in the heat of another body and the world doesn't even end.

“ I’m glad you came,” Seunghyun says, adjusting his grip around Jiyong's shoulders. “I know we didn’t hang out that much tonight, but I, um...I still like knowing you’re around. I don’t know if that’s weird, I just–”

“ It’s not weird,” Jiyong interrupts. He’d even admit that he felt the same if it didn’t feel dangerously like a declaration.

Something about the smile Seunghyun presses into his hair tells him he doesn’t have to.

“ Awesome.”

Jiyong’s insides twist and clench, and maybe the world actually is ending, what with the substantial weight settling in his chest. The ache in his throat from tears he doesn't even want to acknowledge let alone shed. He pushes his face against Seunghyun’s collarbone and tries not to drown in the solid reality of him or the way he smells, because if he does, he’s pretty sure he’s never letting go.

“ You’re really good at this,” Jiyong mumbles, blushing at himself before he even finishes getting the words out.

Seunghyun huffs in amusement. “No one’s ever complimented me on my hugging skills before.”

“ They should,” he replies.

Of course, the minute Seunghyun starts rubbing slowly along his back, it’s all over—everything he’s been repressing just floating right to the surface like all it needed was a friendly, little shove. Jiyong takes in a ragged breath, eyebrows furrowed tight as he sniffles and wonders why he’s so useless. He can’t even keep it together for three fucking hours.

“ Whoa, hey.” Seunghyun eases away to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

_ Me _ , he wants to answer. But he doesn’t.

“ Sorry,” Jiyong frowns, staring at the neckline of Seunghyun’s t-shirt and wiping at his nose. “It’s nothing.”

“ Uh, clearly it's not if you're about to  _ cry _ .”

“ Really, it's stupid.” He sighs, because he knows Seunghyun isn't about to accept that as a valid answer. “I just...I haven't been hugged that much, okay? And tonight you and Zahra both did, so...” he trails off, gesturing lamely at his wet eyes.

Seunghyun is silent for so long that Jiyong has to look up, not expecting the expression on his face to be quite so pained. And definitely not expecting Seunghyun to lift his hands and cup Jiyong’s cheeks to wipe at the tears. Which, naturally, only inspires more to spill.

“ I will hug the crap out of you whenever you want, just say the word,” Seunghyun vows, totally serious, but Jiyong can’t not laugh.

“ Thank you,” he huffs, smiling, sniffling, sure it was intentional when Seunghyun smiles, too.

His throat still hurts, though, and the pressure in his chest says he’s probably going to have an actual breakdown if he doesn’t remove himself from this situation. Especially with the brunt of Seunghyun’s softness right there. In his eyes, his voice, the touch of his hands.

“ I’m, um– I’m– I should go,” Jiyong stutters out. It takes a lot for him to step backwards, but he does. “Say goodnight to Becca and Ethan for me?”

“ You're sure?” Seunghyun asks again. His eyebrows look conflicted. “I mean, I can come with you, if you want. Keep you company, so you don’t have to be alone.”

Not for the first time, Jiyong flirts with the idea that he’s been in a coma for the last five weeks.

“ Seunghyun, it’s your birthday. Be with your friends,” he insists, trying to make his face do anything but telegraph how messed up he feels right now.

“ But--”

Jiyong shakes his head. “I’ll text you.”

Sighing, Seunghyun deflates a little, nudging his glasses further up his nose and then striding forward. Jiyong barely gets to blink before there are hands on his neck and lips molding to his forehead.

“ You’d better,” Seunghyun whispers against Jiyong’s skin.

The initial shock is so intense that he can’t move. Can hardly think. Seunghyun’s thumb strokes the edge of his jaw and he has to stop himself from acting impulsively, fingers clenching and unfurling at his sides.

“ Sorry, was that too much?” Seunghyun asks, pulling back.

Jiyong swallows thickly against the lump in his throat. “It’s fine.”

He reaches up, taking Seunghyun’s hands in his. Seunghyun flashes him a brief smile and he feels the twist in his stomach again as he squeezes once before letting go. Jiyong has no idea what else to say, so he says nothing. Thankfully, neither does Seunghyun, and he ducks his head, turning to walk down the fire escape stairs.

Inside the darkened apartment, music and muddled voices still filter through the floor. Jiyong tosses his phone onto the bed, kicks off his shoes, pretends his fingers aren’t shaking as he takes off his hoodie and his jeans and crawls under the covers.

Sucking in a huge, shuddery breath, he scrubs at his cheeks. The tears are there behind his eyes, just waiting for him to lose his resolve. For the dam to finally break. Lucky for them, that resolve crumbles the instant he checks his phone to find seven text messages.

**13125553087**

**[Sent: Nov 5 1:36AM]**

yo, it’s your girl zahra. we’re

bffs now, in case you didn’t

know, and your adorable

ass better text me back

**Tweedle Dum**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:19AM]**

Just a heads up. When you

come in for work, I’m gonna

hug you until you pass out.

**Tweedle Dum**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:19AM]**

And then hug you again

when you come to.

**Becca**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:21AM]**

Feel better, Jiyong :(

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:21AM]**

Ethan threatened to punch

my arm 28 more times if I

didn’t tell him what happened

I’m so sorry

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:23AM]**

Please love me

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 2:23AM]**

<3<3<3<3<3

Jiyong throws an arm over his face, like it’ll make it any easier to fall apart. He wishes he had more control. Wishes he didn’t feel so helpless whenever he can’t hold it in anymore. But more than any of that, he wishes he could see worth in himself and trust it the way they do.

**[Sent: Nov 5 2:40AM]**

<3

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


On the thirty-ninth day, Jiyong wakes up feeling just as empty as he usually does. He showers, eats a bowl of cereal, and sits on the kitchen counter staring at the floor until he can’t handle being alone with his thoughts. Sometimes all he wants is to step outside of his own body for a little while. Hang it up in the closet or fold it away in a drawer to come back to later. But since that’s impossible, the only thing he can do is go for a walk.

Thankfully it’s Saturday and Saturdays are busy enough that he doesn’t have to go far in order to get lost. To place himself in the middle of a crowd and forget who he is. The problem, he learns, is that no matter how far he walks or how big the crowd, he can’t stop thinking about the night before.

Jiyong pauses at a three-way intersection and stands there on the Northernmost corner. He watches morning sun glide over car windshields as they take their turn at the light. He watches the streams of people flooding the crosswalks and wonders where they’re going, who they are, if they’re lost too and just better at coping. Jiyong wants to know why he can’t find the secret instruction manual everyone else seems to have been given at birth. Because he's pretty sure he's still missing something.

Then again, maybe they’re all missing something.

Pushing a hand through his hair, he sighs and turns to keep going when his pocket buzzes.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:48AM]**

Hey! I knocked and you

didn’t answer, so I’m going

to assume that you’re not

home.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:48AM]**

You’re not, right?

**[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]**

you really think i’d hide

from you?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]**

No

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]**

But everyone needs space

sometimes and I wouldn’t

hold it against you if you

did.

Jiyong stares down at his phone and laughs.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:50AM]**

Anyway, I have to work a

double today, since I took

off last night. No rest for

the wicked :D

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:50AM]**

Just wanted to tell you that

I made too much pasta

and you should eat it later.

**[Sent Nov 5 11:51AM]**

you’re asking me to break

into your apartment for

pasta

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]**

It’s spaghetti carbonara, I

dunno if that changes

things.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]**

Also the window’s not locked.

**[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]**

i don’t even know what to

comment on first

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:53AM]**

Eat the damn pasta, Jiyong.

**[Sent Nov 5 11:53AM]**

okay, i’ll eat the pasta

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 5 11:54AM]**

Thank you

He shakes his head as he tucks his phone away and starts walking again. Maybe Seunghyun knows something he doesn’t. Because Seunghyun seems to exist in the same reality as everyone else and yet still operate by his own set of rules. Rules that obviously involve being equal parts bizarre and overwhelmingly sweet.

Jiyong pauses at another intersection, waiting for the light to change. He watches the cars and the people ducking in and out of busy shops, wondering if their lives would be different if they also had an alien for a neighbor. His mouth curves into a small smile. Maybe he could solve the world’s problems by bottling Seunghyun’s weirdness and transforming the rest of the population into starchildren. Instead of wars, there would be dance parties. Everyone would laugh more, smile more, care more about each other. Jiyong imagines celebrating International Soggy Waffle Day and can’t prevent a giggle from bubbling up in his lungs as he crosses the street. It gets worse when he decides the national anthem would probably be changed to the rubber ducky song, and he has to stop walking—leaning against the nearest brick wall as he vibrates with amusement.

Strangers give him odd looks when they pass. Jiyong can’t really blame them, since he feels pretty crazy right now, and he stares up at the pale blue sky, caught somewhere between delirious and heartsick. Because he realizes how thankful he is to be standing here, feeling anything at all.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Later that afternoon, Jiyong sits in the living room between two short box towers and stares out through the line of windows. He thinks about the last time he was this bored.  _ Every minute spent inside the hardware store _ , his brain suggests, which sounds pretty accurate. He almost wishes he was working a shift at the cafe, but that level of desperation hasn’t been reached yet. So he sits. And he ignores the fact that the boxes on either side of him are full of books.

Not that he doesn’t like reading. Jiyong would just prefer to passively engage with the world today—a thought that reminds him what he has access to—and he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:04PM]**

can i watch one of your

movies?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:08PM]**

Yeah, of course.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:08PM]**

If you’re bored, you can

always come to Willow

Street and hang out.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:09PM]**

Cpt Crookshanks is already

here.

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:10PM]**

as fun as that sounds, i think

i’m better off not being with

people today

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 5 3:12PM]**

Then by all means, go

upstairs and knock

yourself out. Mi casa es

su casa <3

Jiyong grins and rolls his eyes, telling himself he doesn’t care about the sudden influx of hearts in Seunghyun’s text messages. He doesn’t. What he does care about, though, is food, and he pushes up off the floor to head for the fire escape.

Despite being overrun by drunk hipsters and endless cans of beer mere hours ago, Seunghyun’s apartment is awe-inspiringly spotless. Did he even sleep last night? Who gets up early to clean and cook after partying until four in the goddamn morning? Aliens, obviously.

Jiyong lingers by the windows feeling uncomfortable now that he’s here and Seunghyun isn’t. Now that he’s here with the reminder that he endured multiple social interactions with strangers and didn’t shrivel up and die as a result. It shouldn’t seem like such a monumental achievement, but it is, and he takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. Jiyong isn’t sure he can chalk the night up as a complete victory. He still hates himself for saying certain things and the way he acts when he’s trying too hard to be normal.

Sliding a hand down his face, he forces himself to stop thinking about it. That’s why he’s doing this, anyway—to not think, to disengage. Which would probably be a lot easier if he wasn’t in Seunghyun’s apartment.

It takes him a few minutes to find everything he needs in the kitchen. Then a few more to heat up some of the pasta in a pot on the stove. Jiyong looks at the table and remembers that conversation. Or, more accurately, the moment he reached over to steal Seunghyun’s arm. His skin prickles, memory flickering to Seunghyun holding his hand while kneeling on the floor. Seunghyun wrapped around him, Seunghyun kissing his forehead, fantasy stepping in to satisfy impulse. He closes his eyes and wonders what would’ve happened if he’d kissed Seunghyun the way he wanted to. Jiyong’s stomach swoops aggressively in answer.

The thing is that he can’t stop thinking about it, now that he’s started. Even when he puts on Jurassic Park and settles onto the couch—bowl of pasta in his lap, eyes on the TV, but mind embarrassingly distracted.

It gets worse when he swaps out Jurassic Park for The NeverEnding Story. Because the longer he’s there, the more comfortable he is, and with that comfort comes the undeniable truth of how much he wishes Seunghyun was sitting next to him. Jiyong isn’t used to pining. He’s still not used to wanting, or caring enough to want in the first place. Especially when it’s attainable and not just some unrealistic, abstract concept.

After The NeverEnding Story, he watches Guardians of the Galaxy. Then Empire Records and Die Hard, not ready to go back downstairs to be alone with only himself. At least up here, he can keep pretending that everything is hunky dory. That he’s not afraid of what’s already changing.

  
  


Really, Jiyong should go to bed, because he has work at eight and Seunghyun won’t be back until after two. But he doesn’t move, regardless of how many times the thought keeps popping into his head. He likes being on the couch. He likes this movie. He falls asleep around midnight, long before Bruce Willis can say “yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker” into his walkie-talkie.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


The shrill melody of his phone alarm going off at six-thirty abruptly rips him from unconsciousness. Jiyong’s first instinct is to curl further into a ball and ignore it forever, but a low groan rumbles somewhere above him and he’s suddenly aware of how warm everything is. One, because there’s a thick blanket draped over his body, and two, he discovers upon cracking his eyes open.

When Jiyong turns his head, Seunghyun blinks slowly and offers a bleary smile. He chooses not to address the heavy arm lying on top of him, or the fact that he was holding said arm in both hands, and fumbles for his phone instead.

The alarm shuts off. His heart thuds between his ears, chasing away the fog with every beat. He can feel Seunghyun’s thigh against his back—the weight of fingers against his hip and the gentle movement of Seunghyun drawing breath. It’s startling, but not in the way Jiyong expects.

“ Sorry,” he croaks.

Seunghyun stares at him, brow wrinkled.

“ For what?”

“ For falling asleep on your couch?” Jiyong says.

Chuckling, Seunghyun gives his hip a light squeeze. “Yes. I was so distraught, I had to sit down and fall asleep next to you.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes himself up onto his knees, more than a little embarrassed by how much space there is at the other end.

“ I just didn’t mean to stay this long,” he explains, trying to rub the sleep from his face.

“ You can stay whenever you want,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong lets his hands drop. Seunghyun looks back at him with a tiny smile playing at the edge of his mouth. It’s probably safer not to say out loud that if he actually stayed whenever he wanted, he might as well start making rent payments.

“ Thanks.” Jiyong’s lips quirk. “I’d return the invitation, but your apartment has furniture.”

Seunghyun laughs louder. “We can change that.”

He nods, still feeling overheated, but for new reasons. Reasons that may or may not include admitting how caught up he really is in that “we”.

“ Okay.”

The grin Jiyong receives is lazy and pleased and he smiles back. Then Seunghyun chews on his bottom lip and Jiyong has to duck his head to stop himself from listening to impulse again. It’s harder this time.

“ Do you want some coffee? I can make a pot,” Seunghyun offers.

“ It’s cool. I have to shower and get ready. I’ll just make something at the cafe,” he answers, climbing off of the couch. “You should go back to bed.”

Seunghyun groans as he stands, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re probably right,” he yawns.

Jiyong snorts.

“ I’m definitely right.”

His gaze catches the sliver of skin between Seunghyun’s shirt and his jeans before it disappears. He’s almost positive the tattoo he saw there wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but Jiyong just clears his throat, forcing himself to focus on something safer.

“ The, um, the pasta,” he says dumbly. “It was really good.”

Seunghyun smiles. “Glad you liked it.”

“ You made too much on purpose, didn’t you?” Jiyong asks.

Scratching at the back of his cotton candy head, Seunghyun shrugs, eyes crinkling in shy amusement.

“ Guilty as charged.”

He laughs quietly and the heat spreads, fitting into all of his emptiness.

Strangely, Jiyong doesn’t feel the itch for once. The flutter, however, seems to be a permanent fixture now, and when impulse knocks a third time, it explodes inside of his stomach like gentle fireworks. Because he decides, right then, that he doesn’t want to fight himself anymore. Not when it comes to this.

So Jiyong steps forward, noticing the way Seunghyun’s eyebrows lift in surprise as he wraps his arms around Seunghyun’s waist and pushes his face into his shoulder. He inhales, letting it out when Seunghyun hugs him back.

“ Thank you,” he mumbles. Jiyong knows he can’t ever say that enough.

Seunghyun tightens his grip, breath hot on Jiyong’s scalp when he sighs into his hair and says, “You’re welcome.”

A very small part of his brain is starting to think their call and answer really means something else.


	4. part 4

True to his word, Ethan squishes Jiyong within an inch of his life the moment he enters the cafe. And then again, a few minutes later.

He knew it was coming, but what he never could have accounted for, was the strange, buoyant pressure against his ribs. Like he felt the first time he saw the ocean when he was five. Or when his mother used to smile at him, the few times she actually saw Jiyong instead of his father.

It follows him throughout the day, even after he walks home that evening and steps into the quiet stillness of the apartment. Jiyong knows better than to believe that he’ll feel the same when he wakes up.

Against habit, he hopes for it anyway.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Wednesday evening Jiyong finds himself standing outside of Zahra’s building a few blocks away from the cafe. It’s a street he’s walked down countless times in the last month, and as he stares up at the old brownstone, he wonders how often their paths almost crossed before the night of Seunghyun’s party. Not that he would’ve known who she was or had the balls to approach a total stranger. Jiyong barely has the balls to climb the steps and ring the buzzer, unsure of himself in a way he wishes he wasn’t.

For most of his life, it was always other people who forced their version of friendship on him, even when he didn’t know what to do with it. He only played along because he thought that’s what he was supposed to do. He thought that if he went to parties and didn’t say no whenever someone texted him, that none of them would figure out how deficient he was.

Jiyong realizes this isn’t high school or college and that he actually wants to be friends with Zahra. It’s exactly why he’s afraid of not doing it right, which is both stupid and human. He just has to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to be those things in the fifteen seconds it takes Zahra to buzz him in.

“Hey,” she grins when she opens the door.

“Hey,” Jiyong replies, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

She seems less intimidating now—drowning in oversized sweats and a ratty t-shirt, her face free of makeup, hair caught in a messy bun. Like she’s more of a person and less of an idea.

  
  


That doesn’t stop him from freezing up, though, and both of them stand there staring at each other as if they’ve forgotten how this works. Then Zahra laughs and the sound is equal parts anxious and familiar. Or maybe it’s just the anxiety that’s familiar.

“Sorry. I guess I should warn you that I’m really awkward when alcohol isn’t involved.”

He shrugs. “Me too.”

“Great,” she laughs again, moving aside to let him in. “This shouldn’t be painful at all.”

Jiyong smiles and glances around the apartment. It’s nice. Cluttered like Seunghyun’s, but not as random. Lived in, like Seunghyun's. Full of all the small details that make up a life. He notices that the affinity for purple extends beyond Zahra's hair, seeing it in the pillows on the couch and the curtains hanging from the big bay windows. Fridge magnets, bowls in the drying rack, a poster in the hallway. Even though he doesn't really know her, this particular detail doesn't surprise him.

“Do you have a roommate?” Jiyong asks, noticing the second bedroom.

Zahra nods. “Yeah, she’s at work right now. You met her at the party–Katherine?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He remembers the Escher-inspired tattoos and her dry humor. “I liked her.”

“She’s a doll,” Zahra replies. “Especially because she puts up with me.”

His mouth twitches.

“You can’t be that awful.”

“You’re about to find out,” she sing-songs, nudging him further into the living room.

This makes Jiyong laugh and some of his apprehension melts away as they both sit on the couch, Zahra tucking her legs up and turning to face him. He thinks he could probably count the number of conversations he’s started on one hand and have fingers left over. For whatever reason, that doesn’t seem as insurmountable as it usually does.

“So.”

She flashes him a timid smirk. “So.”

“I’m gonna be totally honest, I have no idea what to say right now,” Jiyong confesses.

“Me either,” Zahra chuckles.

“Maybe we should get drunk,” he suggests. “That seemed to work last time.”

Zahra’s laughter expands, filling the room.

“Y'know, I think we still have some beers in the fridge,” she mutters absently, already crawling off the couch.

Jiyong watches her go and smiles when he eventually hears the clink of glass bottles, relieved that he’s not the only one who needs liquid courage just to step outside his own head. Zahra returns and plops down next to him, handing him a beer, humor still dancing in her dark eyes.

“Cheers,” she says, tapping their bottles together.

They both take long, slow sips. His attention wanders. The silence doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable and he wonders if that’s Zahra or just him.

“I like your apartment, by the way. It feels like you,” Jiyong says after a few minutes.

Zahra beams sweetly. “Aww, thanks.”

“I still don’t have a couch.”

“Seriously?” she asks, eyebrows lifting. “Where do you sit?”

“The floor. Sometimes on the kitchen counter.” He rubs his thumb against the condensation on the glass. “I haven’t even really unpacked.”

Shrugging, Zahra gives him a sympathetic look. “Some things take longer than others, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he laughs slightly.

Jiyong drinks from his bottle and can tell his mouth is seconds away from running off on him. It could be because he never gets to talk about himself with someone who might understand. Years of pent up words lying in wait for the right person to appreciate them. He sighs and takes another sip, not sure he’s brave enough yet to start letting some of them out.

They both go quiet again, eyes meeting and drifting away and meeting again. Jiyong forgot how weird this could be. He hasn’t done it in forever and Seunghyun doesn’t count, because Seunghyun is an anomaly.

“Um…” Zahra starts, picking at the label on her beer. “Do you wanna watch something? Or we could play Mario Kart. Nothing says eternal friendship quite like aggressively ramming each other off of Rainbow Road.”

He snorts. “I haven’t played in a really long time.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go easy on you the first round,” she promises, winking, which makes him think “going easy” actually means “annihilate”.

He’s not off by much. But Jiyong admits that he likes the way Zahra cackles whenever she sends him flying over the edge of the track. Half the time he does it to himself, still getting used to the old N64 controller. He tries not to resent the fact that he rarely had the chance to play with anyone growing up. His mom didn’t allow video games. Maybe that’s where everything went wrong.

“You’re surprisingly bad at Mario Kart,” she says, about an hour later. Jiyong’s barely won a couple races.

“Not all boys are created equal,” he answers dryly.

Zahra laughs and pops the cap off of another beer. “I wanted to be a boy when I was little, actually,” she admits, taking a swig before starting their next race. “My older brothers always made it seem so much better, because they were funny and cool and smart and good at everything. But then I started beating all their high game scores and it didn’t matter anymore.”

“Bet they loved that,” Jiyong chuckles.

She nods in his periphery, shooting him a quick grin.

“I think I was on their shitlist for like, a month or something. They wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s fine, we joke about it now. But they still think I’m a freak.”

Jiyong attempts to pass her on the track and fails when he hits one of those stupid banana peels and spins out of control.

“How does that make you a freak?”

“I dunno, because I don’t fit inside the official girl box, I guess,” Zahra answers. “I’ve always been the weird one.”

He has no idea what it’s like to have siblings. He does, however, know too much about boxes and what it’s like to be “the weird one”.

“So you never played this shit when you were a kid?” she asks, lapping him a second time and grinning when Jiyong elbows her gently.

“My mom wouldn’t buy me a console and I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Zahra’s mouth curves down at the corners, thick eyebrows furrowing. “What did you do for fun, then?”

“Read. Go for walks.”

“I think we may have been the most boring kids on the planet,” she muses.

“Yeah,” Jiyong agrees, smiling again. “You had video games, at least.”

“True, true,” Zahra sighs, finally zipping past him to the finish line and winning first place for the zillionth time.

He sinks further into the couch, head lolling against the cushions. The victory lap music fills their silence while they both sit there and take long sips from their bottles. Jiyong’s tongue wants to run away from him again. He decides that’s probably okay now, words coming soft and slow as he pieces his thoughts together.

“It’s just kind of strange. Getting this far and trying to remember if I ever felt normal. Or everyone else’s normal, whatever. I don’t even know what that means.”

Zahra nods in agreement beside him. “It’s pretty stupid, isn’t it.”

“Incredibly stupid.”

“Most people are sorta messed up, though. Even if they don’t want to admit it,” she sighs, propping an elbow up on the back of the couch as she turns to face him. “We just don’t hide it the same way they do.”

Jiyong manages a faint smile. In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be any pretending, because it wouldn’t matter and no one would care. “I wish they wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They finish their beers and before Zahra can ask if he wants another, his brain sparks with a new question. An old question, actually, one he always wants to hear the answer to. Because underneath it all, he thinks he just needs to know that he’s not alone in this.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, glancing over at her. Zahra sets her bottle down and nods again. “Are you happy?”

“Sometimes,” she replies easily. “Well, most of the time. It was worse in college,” she adds, laughing gently as she tilts her head and asks, “Are you?”

“Not exactly,” Jiyong admits. He fumbles with the bottle, mouth moving all on its own. “I think I could be, maybe. If I figure out how.”

For some reason, saying it out loud makes him believe it more. Like he can’t take it back and pretend he never had the thought in the first place. He probably would’ve, too, but there’s a witness now.

Zahra looks like she wants to comment, but he keeps asking questions, wants to keep moving forward.

“What happened in college?”

The furrow in her brow disappears and she lights up. “Seunghyun happened, I guess,” Zahra tells him, gaze wandering as she thinks. “He helped me realize that it was okay to not have answers and make my own version of happiness anyway. It doesn’t always work, but if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it, y’know?”

“Of course he did,” Jiyong mutters. “Who died and made him an official life coach, anyway?”

“You should ask him, not me.”

“I will,” he replies. “I mean-- I want to, I’ve been wanting to.”

The expression on her face shifts from amused to sly.

“You’re really sweet on him, aren’t you?” she asks and Jiyong scoffs. “You  _ are _ , don’t even play, dude. I saw the way you looked at each other, it was like watching a hipster romance novel unfold in front of my eyes.”

He tips his head back against the cushions, almost losing it at that mental image. She’s probably not wrong.

“So what if I am?” he huffs, grinning. His cheeks are definitely on fire.

Zahra gives him another one of her coffee-warm smiles.

“I’d say that feeling is as good a place to start as any. Wouldn’t you?”

Staring down at his lap, Jiyong entertains the idea of feigning ignorance. Though what would be the point, when he can’t even come up with a valid reason to disagree?

She reaches over to squeeze his arm, like she knows he can’t argue, and rises from the couch without another word, collecting their empty bottles. Jiyong continues to stare at nothing. He can’t stop trying to piece together how the hell any of this happened in the first place. 

But...maybe it’s not a puzzle he’s meant to solve.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


On the forty-fourth day, Seunghyun helps Jiyong look for a couch at one of the second hand furniture stores in their neighborhood, and the entire time, he can’t get Zahra’s words out of his head. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this hyper-aware of anything ever. The problem, is that awareness doesn’t actually change his inability to deal with it. With knowing just how much the flutter in his stomach whenever Seunghyun so much as blinks is reciprocated. That should make it easier, but it really doesn’t. Because Jiyong is always standing in his own way.

“What about this one?” Seunghyun asks, pointing at a deep green couch that looks like it might eat him and then spit him out into another plane of existence if he sat in it.

“I think if anything fell between the cushions, it would be lost forever. Including me.”

Seunghyun giggles. “We can’t have that.”

Jiyong can’t not smile at the bright sound and he wonders how obvious he’s being. Based on how often he has to endure the sight of those dimples, he’d say “super”.

“Okay, what about this one over here?” Seunghyun tries again, tugging him towards a boxy gray number with tattered, yellow throw pillows.

He shakes his head.

“Too modern.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared this much about interior decorating,” Seunghyun teases.

“I don’t,” Jiyong replies, smirking. “But I’m experimenting with participating in my own life.”

Seunghyun’s smile droops a little bit. He didn’t mean for that to seem so depressing, he was just being honest. Jiyong nudges into him with his elbow and wants to roll his eyes, but Seunghyun surprises him by tossing an arm over his shoulders.

“C’mon, we’re gonna find you the perfect couch.”

He does roll his eyes now, letting Seunghyun drag him on to the next one. They probably end up sitting on all fifteen couches at least once and half an hour later, Jiyong finally comes to a decision.

“This is it,” he announces.

“You're absolutely positive?” Seunghyun asks, quirking an eyebrow. “A couch is serious business. It's basically the centerpiece of your life.”

Jiyong laughs and runs his fingers over the faded, red upholstery, focusing on the softness of the material instead of how close they’re sitting–arms and legs squished against one another.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says.

Seunghyun nods. “Just checking.” And then, “Do you have a laptop?”

“Yeah, why?” Jiyong turns to look at him.

“I figured we could watch a movie or something to christen the couch after they deliver it tomorrow.”

The flutter fills his stomach to capacity, but he thinks he might be learning to enjoy the sensation, no matter how terrifying it always is.

“Okay.”

Biting down on a smile, Seunghyun narrows his eyes. “You’re not just humoring me, right? Because you’re allowed to say no.”

“No, I want to,” Jiyong insists. “You don’t have to over-analyze everything I say. I’ve never lied to you.”

“I’m–” Seunghyun leans into him slightly and ducks his head. “I know. Sorry.”

It takes a second, but Jiyong realizes something then, because Seunghyun is normally so confident it’s easy to forget he doesn’t always feel that way. Easy to forget that he struggles, too. They only ever talked about it that one time, which makes him wonder how many times Seunghyun has hidden behind his exuberance since then. Jiyong still doesn’t like the idea of Seunghyun being sad or unsure of himself, and he certainly doesn’t want to be the reason Seunghyun falters, especially when he has no reason to.

Zahra’s words from yesterday scroll through his mind like never-ending ticker tape. He stares at Seunghyun’s hand where it’s resting on his knee, heart beating erratically when he questions whether or not he really has the guts to do this. Whether or not he's ready.

Jiyong closes his eyes for a moment and inhales slowly. He picked out a damn couch. He can do anything.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Jiyong starts, voice echoing weirdly in his ears as blood rushes everywhere. He lifts his own hand and takes Seunghyun’s, fitting their fingers together, feeling brave and delirious and maybe like he might puke. “I like spending time with you.”

Seunghyun squeezes his hand. Jiyong looks up.

“I’d be a little concerned at this point if you didn’t,” Seunghyun jokes, but the reappearance of his dimples betrays exactly how happy he is.

Jiyong’s beginning to think he might know something about that after all.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Friday evening after the delivery men are gone, Jiyong leans against the wall in the living room and stares at the couch, adjusting to a new shape occupying his space. It seems odd, the way it’s facing the jumble of unpacked boxes. So he moves it around to face the windows instead and then plops down in the middle.

Sunset paints the gray sky a dull peach. Jiyong watches the colors change until all that’s left are the city lights bouncing orange off of the muddy clouds.

He sighs, feeling drained from getting up early for work and trying to care more than he usually does. Because he’d like to care. He’d like to be better and not feel empty when he wakes up in the morning, but knowing what’s broken doesn’t mean he knows how to fix it. If he knew, he probably would’ve done something about it a long time ago.

What Jiyong does know, is that he doesn’t want that responsibility to be anyone else’s but his. As much as he’d like Seunghyun or Ethan or Zahra to be the mystical missing link he’s never been able to find, he also knows that’s unrealistic. And incredibly unfair, both to himself and them.

Flopping over onto his side, he presses his cheek against the softness of the couch cushion, wondering why this is so hard. Every good day Jiyong has never seems to matter when there are a hundred other bad days reminding him that nothing has changed. He wants change. He wants to figure out the magic trick that will let him keep the feeling he gets when someone makes him laugh. Or the way he felt when he held Seunghyun’s hand—which sounds so fucking stupid in his head, but he still means it.

Jiyong lays there in the almost dark for what might be forever. Then his phone vibrates and he learns it’s only been forty-five minutes. He would’ve preferred eternity.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 11 6:32PM]**

I should be home around 10.

Is that cool?

**[Sent: Nov 11 6:33PM]**

yeah, it’s fine. i don’t work until

3 tomorrow

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 11 6:35PM]**

Awesome :)

He drops his phone on the floor and rolls over onto his back. Now he needs to find something to do for the next three and a half hours. Jiyong has no idea when doing nothing became such a drag, but he doesn’t like it. Walking is always an option. Except, for the first time in almost a year, he can’t muster the motivation to even do that.

This is bad. This is worse than usual. Jiyong flings an arm over his face and inhales so deep his lungs should pop. He lets it out slow and then does it again.

Why is he like this? Why can’t he just be okay—not silently losing his shit thinking about what everyone would say if they knew how useless he really was? How cowardly. Because he is. He’s worthless. Jiyong can’t claim any special skills, he’s not more or less intelligent than most people; he has no drive, no aspirations, no future worth dreaming about. So he likes music, big deal. Everyone likes music. So he can make coffee and not screw it up most of the time. Is he going to be a barista for the rest of his life? Is he going to stay here in this apartment, running in place while everyone else runs past him? That’s how it should be, right. He’s not cut out for all this shit, he’d only be a wrench in the gears. Most days, he already feels like he is, anyway.

Hot tears roll into the hair at his temples and trickle down over his ears. Jiyong’s whole body jumps when he draws in a stuttered breath. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he’s sad, because these thoughts are nothing new, it’s just that there’s an ache in his chest like he misses something. But Jiyong doesn’t have an answer for that one, either.

He lowers his arm and stares at the ceiling, listening to the radiator clank in the corner.  _ That escalated quickly, _ he thinks. “ _ God _ , what the hell is wrong with me?”

Jiyong lifts his hands to wipe at his eyes, then hauls himself off the couch and into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Then he goes into the bedroom to find his laptop before curling up at the end of the couch. He squints against the brightness of the screen, clicking on his music player. A few seconds later the opening acoustic strains of “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” filter out of the crappy speakers. Jiyong still turns the volume all the way up.

Leaning back against the arm of the couch, he shuts his eyes, forgetting everything except for Bowie’s voice and the steady build of the music—the way all the other instruments thread themselves into the composition so effortlessly, the way he goes from quiet and scratchy to wailing with everything he’s got. It doesn’t matter that Jiyong’s heard the song a million times—spent so many nights like this one listening to it on repeat for hours. It always hits him exactly how he needs it to, right as the chorus kicks in, Ziggy Stardust telling him he’s not alone.

Jiyong blinks away fresh tears when the sting becomes too much. He loops the song over and over again, letting the words sink into him until he can almost believe what he’s hearing.  _ You’re not alone...you’re wonderful. _

_ You’re wonderful _ .

He hopes he can say that to himself one day and know in his bones that it's true.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Knuckles tapping against glass startle him from his trance. Jiyong stops the music and pushes his laptop aside, going to open the window. Seunghyun climbs inside and brings all the frigid November air with him.

“Have you been sitting in the dark this whole time?”

Jiyong closes the window and offers a vague shrug. “Yeah.”

In the laptop’s pale glow, he can see the smile on Seunghyun’s face fall. Which means Seunghyun can probably see Jiyong’s total lack of expression.

Setting his messenger bag on the floor, Seunghyun steps closer and tentatively rests his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He shivers. Seunghyun’s fingers are freezing.

“Not really,” he answers.

Seunghyun chews on his lip for a moment before speaking. “I can leave, if you want. I don’t–”

“No.” Jiyong shakes his head, reaching up to take Seunghyun’s wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Because he knows when he needs to be alone and this is definitely not one of those times. Something, he realizes, that he didn’t have much control of in the past—always picking solitude over seeking someone out, because the people he’d surrounded himself with didn’t understand. Had he done that on purpose? A subconscious defense mechanism, because he was worried maybe someone  _ would _ understand.

Jiyong’s throat tightens. That had never occurred to him, now that he’s spoiled for choice.

This soft, almost sad, smile tugs at Seunghyun’s mouth like he gets it, because it seems like he always does, and then Jiyong is being brought in for a hug. He curls his arms around Seunghyun’s waist without hesitation, burrowing into the material of his jacket even though it’s cold. It makes him feel like a touch-starved animal. Like he has to make up for every hug he never got, despite still being a little freaked out by all the affection.

“Can I ask why you’re not okay?” Seunghyun says.

Jiyong sighs. “It’s just been a bad day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he huffs, smiling. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re already helping.”

Seunghyun holds him closer and Jiyong gives himself permission to take what he needs from it, preemptively ignoring the voice in the back of his head that would tell him he didn’t deserve it.

When they pull apart, Seunghyun brightens, his hand ruffling through Jiyong’s hair to scratch lightly at his scalp. “I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”

“Funny,” he drawls, shoving him away.

“What’s in all those boxes?” Seunghyun asks as he moves towards the couch, taking his jacket off before dropping onto the cushions.

“Books. Random crap. I wasn’t really paying attention when I packed,” Jiyong replies, sitting beside him. He doesn’t feel like talking about that right now. “How was the bar?”

Sinking down against the back of the couch, Seunghyun releases a heavy breath.

“Some asshole walked out on his tab. Other than that it was business as usual.”

“Shit.”

“It’s all right,” Seunghyun smiles up at him. “I was angry for about ten minutes, but it’s not the end of the world.”

_ It’s not the end of the world _ . Jiyong isn’t surprised, he’s just jealous that everything is so easy for Seunghyun, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, because his world always makes sense.

“How do you do that?” Jiyong asks, watching Seunghyun’s face in the dim glow. “Just let everything slide off of you like it’s nothing.”

“Because it’s exhausting, letting everything get under your skin. What’s the use of being pissed or upset when there are better ways to expend my energy?”

Seunghyun watches back and it’s Jiyong who looks away first, tugging on the hem of his hoodie. It’s starting to fray.

“Easier said than done,” he replies.

“Yeah, but trying is always worth it,” Seunghyun says quietly. His hand settles on Jiyong’s knee to give it a gentle squeeze. “Might be easier than you think.”

Jiyong leans into him. “Such a wise, old man.”

Seunghyun snorts with laughter and digs his fingers into Jiyong’s leg, making him yelp and squirm.

“Oh my god, are you ticklish?”

“ _ No _ ,” Jiyong blurts.

“You’re lying. I thought you said you’d never lie to me,” Seunghyun grins, hand still resting on his knee.

He tries not to smile and fails.

“I said hadn’t, not that I wouldn’t.”

“I see how it is.”

The longer Seunghyun stares at him with all that fondness written in the lines of his face, the more the flutter swells, and Jiyong has to duck his head. “Are we watching a movie or what?”

“We are,” Seunghyun answers, patting Jiyong’s leg as he gets up from the couch. “I brought The Princess Bride, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of cour--” But Seunghyun stops him when he starts to get up, too.

“Ah-ah, stay exactly where you are. I got this.”

Jiyong scoffs and flops backwards onto the cushions. “As you wish.”

A peal of deep, delighted laughter fills the living room. He thinks it might be his favorite sound.

Grabbing one of the taller boxes, Seunghyun sets it up in front of the couch, placing Jiyong’s computer on top of it.

“Power cord?”

“Bedroom. On the floor next to my suitcase.”

The light flicks on, casting yellow against blue. Seunghyun pauses in the doorway and grins, pointing at the wall.

“You kept my stupid dinosaur drawing.”

“Of course I did,” Jiyong says, bringing his knees up to his chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Like I was gonna throw that masterpiece away.”

Seunghyun laughs again, going to plug the laptop in, and then crouches to rummage through his messenger bag. Jiyong wonders why this is equal parts nice and bizarre. Maybe it’s because they’re occupying that nebulous state between friends and something else. Maybe it’s all in his head. Based on experience, the latter is more likely.

“I also brought candy and popcorn,” Seunghyun mentions.

“Were you a boy scout as a kid?” Jiyong teases dryly.

“No.” Seunghyun flashes him another grin, unloading a bag of peanut M&Ms and some Sour Patch Kids. “I just have this habit of planning too much when I’m nervous about something.”

He frowns. “Why would you be nervous?”

Seunghyun doesn’t answer immediately—piling the bag of popcorn kernels on top of the rest, zipping his bag closed, raking a hand through his hair.

“Because,” Seunghyun begins, eyes devoid of humor when he looks up. “I like you an insane amount and I’m always afraid I’m gonna push you too far outside of your comfort zone.”

Jiyong isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He appreciates the sentiment, though. No one’s really taken his comfort level into consideration before.

“Why you like me at all is a mystery,” Jiyong can’t stop himself from saying.

It’s a thought that’s been festering in his brain for too long and he’s just glad he found the opportunity to let it out. Seunghyun doesn’t seem to agree, judging by the distressed slope of his eyebrows. The narrow twist of his mouth and the way he rises to sit on the couch, pressing his shoulder into Jiyong’s like he’s got something to prove.

“So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, but the timing was never right.” Seunghyun turns and gives him a lopsided smile. “That, and I figured you probably weren’t ready to have this conversation. Because while I may not know exactly what you’re going through, I’ve definitely been where you are.”

Jiyong shifts, not sure how to respond to that. So he waits, and eventually Seunghyun continues, appearing unsure of himself in a way Jiyong's never seen before.

“I was younger than you. Fourteen and angry and the most alone I think I’ve ever been in my life. It’s kind of crippling, feeling that lost, isn't it? Desperately wanting to find hope in something while simultaneously making sure you never do, since you’re never gonna be good enough.”

He hugs his legs a little tighter, still wanting to believe that’s not true. That Seunghyun was never sad and lonely, because if anyone deserves to never know what that feels like, it’s him. Then again, maybe Seunghyun wouldn’t be the same now if he hadn’t.

“How did you get over it?” Jiyong asks.

“Growing up. Realizing my parents weren’t the enemy. A fuckton of counseling. And finding some friends who didn’t care how weird I was, because they were weird, too,” Seunghyun explains, laughing a bit ruefully. “Honestly, I think learning to like myself was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s sort of a lifelong process. You never stop learning, because we never stop changing.”

It’s instinct to disagree. He would argue that he’s been stagnant since the day he was born.

“I tried therapy. Meds didn’t help.” Jiyong fights the way his throat constricts and breathes in. “I just feel like nothing works.”

“Not even walking?” Seunghyun asks, completely serious.

He shakes his head. “It’s more of a coping mechanism. Something to keep me from unraveling.”

Seunghyun studies Jiyong’s face for a moment.

“Will you tell me about it?”

_ How? _ Jiyong almost says. He can’t remember ever having to put it into words for anyone other than his therapist in high school. He did try a few times, but gave up when he couldn't say it right or realized no one was actually listening, not in the way he needed them to. Seunghyun would listen. And maybe there doesn't have to be a right way to say it.

Unfolding his legs, Jiyong reaches for Seunghyun’s hand and pulls it into his lap, holding it in both of his. He’s uncomfortable for all of ten seconds, then starts to trace Seunghyun’s palm absently so he doesn’t have to look at him.

This doesn't have to be difficult, he knows. Jiyong just needs a moment to work up to it. Because it's important that he wants to. Important that Seunghyun is here and that he's asking and that Jiyong understands he can't hide forever. It's still a lot like pushing through a solid brick wall. Like he has to consciously take some of himself apart before he can offer up the pieces for inspection. Rubbing his thumb against the heel of Seunghyun's hand, he follows the curve all the way to his fingertips, telling himself it's okay. He can be brave.

“I feel...like I’m missing something,” he admits eventually, hesitant. Jiyong closes his eyes and takes another measured breath. “Like the part of me that’s supposed to give a shit isn’t there or it’s damaged or whatever, because I have to try really hard to actively care about anything. And sometimes that doesn't even work.”

“Has it always been like this?” Seunghyun asks softly.

He nods. “More or less.” Jiyong’s gaze travels over the lines in Seunghyun’s hand, following them with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve just never understood what the point was,” he adds. “Of life. Me. Anything.”

It’s a relief to say it---to  _ hear _ himself say it. He feels marginally lighter for having done so, but the fear that the weight will always be there still lingers.

“I don’t think anyone understands,” Seunghyun replies after a long silence. “For me, it was more figuring out what was important and letting that be the point.”

Jiyong glances over at him. “So, what’s important to you?”

“Friends, family, my job, doing what I love. Same as most people.” Seunghyun’s fingers curl in around his. “You’re important, too.”

“Why?” he asks, even though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Because you’re the Bert to my Ernie,” Seunghyun says, lips twitching. “Because we speak the same language and I care about you and I don’t want you to feel alone like I did.” He sighs. “I don’t want anyone to feel like that.”

It’s a struggle not to fall into bad habits, Jiyong resisting the part of himself that wants to reject everything Seunghyun is saying. Which counts for something, doesn’t it? Resisting. He’s getting better at that. The part of Jiyong that isn’t an asshole would like to think he’s getting better at other things, too, but right now he’s just fighting the urge to start crying again.

Tipping his head onto Seunghyun’s shoulder, he sniffs, only partially successful. “You should find a new planet to live on, you’re too good for this one.”

“Nah, I’m just right,” Seunghyun argues. “Everyone else needs to step up their game.”

Jiyong whuffs in amusement and disbelief, the latter growing tenfold when he feels Seunghyun’s mouth press against his hair. He tightens his grip on Seunghyun’s hand, those long fingers squeezing back, and it’s like his body is suddenly too small for what it’s carrying. Feelings and emotions he didn’t think he was capable of experiencing, and now they’re crowding into his chest all at once.

Turning, Jiyong lifts his head to look at Seunghyun, eyes searching for what he knows is already there—warmth, trust, certainty. Things he’s trying to wrap his head around being real, because he has no reference for this, no cornerstone to guide him. But Jiyong wants to make an effort. Even though he might not be any good at it.

“You’re also important to me,” he confesses, dropping his gaze back to their hands, heart pounding fiercely and a blush heating his face. “I don’t know why I feel so awkward, saying that, but it’s true.”

With his other hand, Seunghyun slides his fingers over Jiyong’s cheek, settling at the curve of his jaw. His stomach clenches, more heat prickling under his skin.

“Am I the exception, then?”

Jiyong laughs, smiling as he looks up again. “Amazingly enough.”

Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

He laughs harder, impulse rushing in at the sight of those dimples when Seunghyun breaks, and then he’s breaking, too—swaying forward to press their mouths together.

The instant their lips touch, Jiyong’s insides implode and Seunghyun makes a pleased humming noise in the back of his throat, drawing him closer. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming in a really, really good way, especially when Seunghyun threads a hand into his hair to keep him there, his stomach immediately plummeting like it forgot what gravity was for.

This isn’t his first kiss, but Jiyong almost wishes it was, because the gentle movement of Seunghyun’s mouth is louder than all the words and that hits him so much harder than everything else.

When the flutter kicks into overdrive, he eases off slightly, resting his forehead against Seunghyun’s as he licks his lips, wanting to remember the details. The taste on his tongue, Seunghyun’s breath mingling with his, soft fingers stroking the back of his neck. The way he feels a little crazy. Like the electric itch, but better. Nicer. Something he might actually enjoy feeling. The part of him that’s not an asshole tells him it’s called happiness.

Seunghyun nudges at Jiyong’s nose, a wide smile threatening to eat his face. “Can we, um...” he pauses and clears his throat. “Can we do that again?”

The giddy laugh that rockets out of his mouth takes him by surprise and he crumples, ducking to hide his face in Seunghyun’s shoulder. “Jesus,” Jiyong chuckles. “You are such a nerd.”

“It’s polite to ask!” Seunghyun protests.

He inhales deeply in an attempt to compose himself, but he can’t stop laughing. Seunghyun lets go of Jiyong’s hand to curl both arms around him, his own amusement rumbling through his chest. He wants to hold onto this. He wants to wake up tomorrow full of something good. Jiyong leans away to look Seunghyun in the eye.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For what?” Seunghyun asks, brow furrowing.

Jiyong flashes him a brief grin, still embarrassed even though he shouldn’t be.

“For being here.”

Seunghyun’s dimples sink into his cheeks like wells of contentment.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He huffs at that and shakes his head. “Are you always this fucking cheesy?”

“Only for you,” Seunghyun replies sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Jiyong kisses him again and tells himself it’s just to wipe the stupid smirk off of his stupid face.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Too-bright sun rouses him from sleep the next morning—cheerfully barging through the window without invitation, reminding him that he should probably buy some curtains soon.

Jiyong rolls onto his side with a groan and blinks until the world comes into sharper focus. He stares at his suitcase in the corner spewing clothes and thinks about doing laundry. Getting a dresser wouldn’t kill him, either. Maybe even some hangers.  _ Baby steps _ , Seunghyun’s voice repeats in his head, and Jiyong pushes himself up to sit.

Echoes of the night before resurface and replay on a loop as he rubs at the sleep behind his eyes. He sees the couch in the living room; remembers their conversation, the making out, them huddled together in front of his laptop until two in the morning, laughing. Jiyong’s everything instantly feels tangled up and he sucks in a breath, letting it out slow. He’s not panicking. He’s–

He doesn’t know what he is, but he’s smiling, trying to scrub the heat from his skin.

Chin propped in his hand, Jiyong sighs again. The flutter nestles into his stomach alongside the messy knot of emotions that’s already there, and he wonders if he’ll ever feel things normally instead of in extremes.

_ Still _ , he thinks, closing his eyes and shamelessly recalling the way Seunghyun had kissed him. The way his lips moved, the lazy slide of his tongue. He’d take the molotov cocktail over the apathy any day.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


“Dude, you’re freakin’ me out.”

Jiyong looks up from his phone, pausing in his reply to one of Seunghyun’s texts. “What?”

Ethan stops wiping down the counter, quirking a skeptical eyebrow, and gestures frantically at him with the rag in his hand. “You’ve been like, a ball of fucking sunshine for the last three days and I can’t decide if you’re possessed, if you were turned into a pod person, or if you’ve been replaced by a robot.”

He snorts.

“Those are my choices?”

“Demons, aliens, and robots aren’t good enough for you?”

Jiyong’s lips twitch and he rolls his eyes. “I’m not a ball of sunshine,” he says flatly.

“You’re  _ phosphorescent _ ,” Ethan insists.

“You’re full of shit,” he retorts.

Both of Ethan’s eyebrows crawl up towards his hairline.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?”

“My shift ended half an hour ago, remember?” Jiyong comments, shrugging. “Now I’m just being rude to my friend.”

Ethan tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he studies Jiyong’s face. “I think I’m gonna go with pod person,” he decides.

Jiyong huffs out a laugh, wandering away from the counter to pull a chair down off of the nearest table.

“And I’m still your boss!” Ethan calls after him.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly.

That earns him a glare as the older man retreats into his office to finish closing up for the night. Jiyong sits, smirking to himself. They were going to walk back together, because Seunghyun had invited Ethan over after work. And him, technically. He still isn’t sure if he wants to hang out, but he won’t say no to the company, and that’s...different—not wanting to say no.

Jiyong might be starting to appreciate different.

Then his phone vibrates again and he realizes he hasn’t responded yet.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:27PM]**

At least let me feed you.

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:28PM]**

i’ll think about it

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:28PM]**

I made cookies?

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]**

i hate you

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]**

:D

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]**

No you don’t <3

“You’re phosphorescing again,” Ethan sighs above him.

“Are you sure you should be using such big words?” he asks, deflecting out of habit. “Might strain something.”

“Little shit,” Ethan chuckles. He hauls Jiyong up from the chair and sends him stumbling towards the doors.

Lights shut off; the heavy bolt of each lock slides home. It’s always strange when the place is quiet and dark and empty. Jiyong’s gotten used to the steady thrum.

“I’m serious though,” Ethan continues once they start walking, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that much in a single shift before. It’s nice.”

Another smile tugs at his mouth in response.

“I’m trying.”

“I’m glad,” Ethan replies. “I’m sure Seunghyun is, too.”

Jiyong elbows him in the side, Ethan’s bell-laughter fogging the cold air.

When it fades, the constant shift of the city around them provides a buffer to their silence that isn’t quite comfortable yet. He thinks they’re getting there. Jiyong wants to try, because he likes Ethan. Respects him as more than just his employer, even if he is, more often than not, an overgrown toddler. He has to admit he likes that too, though, since being an adult and being serious aren’t mutually exclusive. Jiyong kind of wishes someone had clued him in on that a bit earlier.

“Hey, Ethan?” he asks, and Ethan hums in acknowledgment. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Being awesome or making coffee?”

Jiyong makes a face. Ethan grins.

“I started the cafe about seven years ago, but I’ve been working with coffee since I was a Freshman in college. So, like, twenty years?” Ethan sighs, peering up at the nighttime haze. “Fuck, I’m old.”

“That’s a lot of time to dedicate to one thing,” he comments.

“Yeah,” Ethan agrees. “Guess I lucked out in that department.”

“Yeah.”

Jiyong sighs, too, staring hard at the cement under their feet. But then an arm lands on his shoulders and tugs him off balance.

“Could you sound a little more depressed, please?”

“Probably,” he answers, perhaps too quickly.

Ethan’s pace slows when they reach the next intersection, waiting for the signal to change. He squeezes Jiyong’s shoulder once and then lets go.

“If I ask what’s eating you, will you actually tell me this time?” Ethan asks and obviously means it.

_ That’s a good question _ , Jiyong thinks, even as he shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing,” he says, watching the cars pass and wondering if he’s about to have another existential crisis. “Just feeling kind of pointless.”

For a moment, Ethan considers him intently, expression pensive.

“I thought seeing my gorgeous, bearded face every day was your new purpose in life.”

Jiyong stares back at him. “Can I vomit now, or…?”

Scoffing, Ethan shoves him gently and starts crossing the street and he has to jog to catch up. Neither of them say anything for a while, which is fine with him, because he’s a little upset it was this easy to bum himself out—all those insecurities and inadequacies just waiting for the right moment to strike. He should know better. He should. But he’s also tired of being so goddamn predictable.

“I don’t really have any sparkling words of wisdom to offer,” Ethan speaks up, voice almost somber. “Because I don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to lack direction. Something I totally took for granted, because it was different back when I graduated from college. I look around now, and all the kids I hire are up to their ears in debt. If they know what they wanna do, none of them are doing it.” He laughs slightly, but it’s not a happy sound. “Honestly, I think Seunghyun might be the only exception, except he’s been through some shit, so at least he appreciates how lucky he is. Not that I didn’t work my fucking ass off to get where I am, I just always knew this is where I’d be one day.”

Jiyong glances at Ethan and then away, not sure how to respond at first. He's more touched that Ethan  _ wanted _ to offer a solution to his problems, even though he feels like he’s unqualified. It’s usually the people who think they have all the answers telling him what to do, like they discovered the meaning of life, only it has nothing to do with actually being happy. He stays quiet until they reach the apartment building and even manages a real smile once they're standing in front of the entrance.

“I don’t need your words of wisdom,” Jiyong tells him finally, running frozen fingers through his hair. “You’ve already done more than most.”

Ethan’s face illuminates in slow motion. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, oddly pleased by Ethan’s surprise. “And don’t feel bad about having it easy,” he adds as he finds his keys and goes to unlock the door. “Someone’s gotta keep the balance, right? If you’re not content doing what you love, then the rest of us are probably fucked.”

“Lighten up, would you? Jesus,” Ethan huffs.

“I’m working on it.”

“Work harder.”

Jiyong rolls his eyes again and trudges forward, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. When they reach his floor, he realizes he still hasn’t made up his mind, and he pauses on the landing.

Ethan stops at the bottom of the next flight, one hand on the railing. “You’re coming, right?”

He tosses a glance at the apartment door.

“I dunno.”

“Like you really wanna miss out on me and Seunghyun shit-talking each other for a couple hours straight,” Ethan smiles.

He’s not sure what he wants, but being alone isn’t high on the list. It’ll be good for him. Or at least it’ll keep him out of his own head for a while.

“I don’t think you should be mean to someone who just made cookies,” Jiyong says, turning towards the stairs.

“Holy shit, _he did_ _not_ ,” Ethan practically gasps, and then he’s off like a shot, banging on Seunghyun’s door and calling him an evil bastard.

Laughter builds in his stomach as he follows, a grin tugging at his cheeks when he reaches the next floor. Seunghyun spots him from the doorway and Jiyong’s pulse skips and skitters against his skin. He hears music over their bickering—Billie Holiday’s “Summertime”. It’s still weird, being thought of. Being listened to and being remembered.

Jiyong steps into their space, Seunghyun’s hand sliding across his back and Ethan’s voice chattering away as they move inside. He thinks about family. He thinks about connection, person-shaped gears falling into place; the likelihood that he’s going to lose this, because nothing this good ever lasts for long.

Then there are lips pressing against his temple and a still-warm chocolate chip cookie appears in his fingers like magic. Jiyong grins again, taking a bite. He fails not to crack up at the ridiculous noises coming out of Ethan’s mouth as he devours his own cookie, Seunghyun’s arm curling around his waist to keep him upright. The moment itself is so insignificant that he shouldn’t even be noticing it, but he does—the feeling hitting him square in the chest like it’s telling him to pay attention.  _ Look _ , it says.  _ Look at this _ .  _ Impermanent, trivial, yours _ .

His.

Jiyong wonders then, what would happen if he stopped trying to hold onto every detail as tight as he possibly could.


	5. part 5

When he’s not doing anything else, sitting on the couch and staring out the windows becomes a part of Jiyong’s daily existence. It’s getting too cold for walks, anyway, and when he can’t deal with his brain, he just texts Seunghyun or Zahra. Sometimes Ethan if he’s desperate and the others are busy. Which is nice, because he’s never had this—a support system. Real friends. People who actually give a shit about him. Normally Jiyong would question it, but he’s really making an effort not to do that anymore. Even if it’s kind of a trip to realize that he’s being gradually woven into other people’s lives, to the extent that someone would notice if his thread went missing.

The thought isn’t as disconcerting as it would’ve been before he moved here. Does that mean he’s getting better? He doesn’t know. What Jiyong does know, is that he has to stop lying to himself about how much he’s always wanted this. Belonging somewhere.

He releases a heavy sigh, gaze catching a flock of starlings as they roll through the alley and disappear. The city looks colder than usual today. Gray sky, gray streets, everything washed out and dull. Above him, the floorboards start to creak, Seunghyun’s baritone gently humming into the living room. He must be practicing.

Jiyong’s body sinks deeper into the couch in surrender. As much as he’d like to be up there right now, he doesn’t need to be a distraction. But the more he listens, the more he actually wants to hear what’s being said, because it feels like a lifetime ago that Seunghyun surprised him on the sidewalk—his words knocking Jiyong on his ass like it was nothing. Like Seunghyun knew there was no going back after he opened his mouth and revealed his true self. A brilliant, talented asshole.

He laughs and wonders, in retrospect, if that’s when it happened. When he tripped and didn’t notice that the concrete was rushing up to meet him until it was too late.

Although it could’ve been earlier. Standing in front of Seunghyun’s door wanting to know why a complete stranger would care enough to be so kind. Watching sunlight nestle into candy pink strands when Jiyong didn’t even know his name, only that he made Jiyong nervous whenever he smiled.

There’s a terrifying sort of certainty in his gut that he’d never take any of it back. None of the anxiety or the awkwardness. None of the hesitant steps towards friendship and then this. Whatever this is.

_ Good _ , his brain tells him, even though it’s inadequate.

Because meeting Seunghyun set his world into motion in a way that it’s never moved before. He’s grateful for that. He’s grateful for all of it. He just wishes he was better at showing it.

Digging out his phone, Jiyong adds “gratefulness” to his new list of things to work on, right underneath “being nice to myself” and “communication”. It was Seunghyun’s idea. So he’d have something real to look at instead of think about. Vaguely, Jiyong remembers one of his therapists asking him to do a similar exercise, only he never did. Probably because he liked being miserable more than he liked anything else. But as stupid as it seems to keep a log of his shortcomings, he feels like, maybe, it’s time to start adding a little conviction to the equation.

  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


The next morning, Jiyong’s in the middle of making coffee when a familiar tapping echoes in the living room. He freezes, hands stilling over the grinder. For a split second, he contemplates pretending he’s not here before remembering it’s too early for him to be elsewhere. Jiyong cringes immediately after. That was a really awful thought to have and it’s not even that he doesn’t want to see Seunghyun. The problem is he woke up in a bad place and he’s pretty convinced being around other people is a horrible idea. The problem is he’s frustrated that he even feels this way, because he actually believed he could get through a single week without hating himself.

_ Surprise _ .

Jiyong looks up at the ceiling, counts to ten, then goes to open the window.

“Morning,” Seunghyun grins, taking his beanie off as he climbs inside. “You up for getting breakfast before your shift?”

He’s not sure if he’s capable of returning the smile, but he gives it a shot, then moves towards the kitchen wordlessly, Seunghyun following behind him. Jiyong doesn’t need eyes in the back of his head to guess how hard he’s being stared at.

“Not today,” he eventually replies, dumping coffee grounds into the french press on the counter. “Sorry.”

“Okay.” Seunghyun clears his throat. “Should I be reading into how long it took you to answer that question?”

“No.” Jiyong sighs. “I’m–” But he stops, because he needs to think before he speaks, and facing Seunghyun while doing that would be smarter.

So he turns, the edge of the counter pressing into his spine when he leans against it. Seunghyun leans across from him—arms folded over his chest and expression unreadable, save for the wrinkle of concern between his thick brows. Jiyong rubs at his eyes and shoves his fingers through his hair, inhaling deep and letting it out slow. He can feel the weight of indifference trying to pull him under, but he won’t let it.

“Sometimes I wake up and it’s like I’m back where I was two months ago and I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to gain any fucking ground,” Jiyong says, hating the lack of inflection in his voice on top of everything else. “I want you to be here, I always want you to be here, but I don’t know if  _ you _ want to be around  _ me _ when I’m shitty.”

“Jiyong, you’re not shitty,” Seunghyun argues gently, cutting him off when he tries to fight. “And if you think my feelings for you only exist when you’re okay, think again,” he insists. ”I’m not always a hundred percent, either. We both have our moments and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He nods, breathing out a humorless laugh and curling his arms around himself.

“I just...I don’t know how to do this. If I can barely cope with myself, how do I handle “us”?”

Seunghyun steps closer. “We discuss it. Kind of like we’re doing right now,” he says, hands falling to his sides and lips curving in a soft smile.

“Speaking of which, what– um, what are we?” Jiyong asks, hugging himself tighter, because this conversation is so far outside the realm of his experience it might as well be happening on Neptune. “I don’t really need a label, but I figured we should be on the same page.”

For a moment all Seunghyun does is look at him, gaze mapping out Jiyong’s face like he doesn’t already have it memorized.

“I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

He has to snort in response. “I’m struggling, I’m not gonna have a psychotic break. There’s a difference.”

The smallest chuckle vibrates in Seunghyun’s throat and the atmosphere doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Jiyong cracks a smile, a real one, and even if it is wry and at his own expense, it chases away some of the apathy.

Reaching up, Seunghyun curls his fingers around Jiyong’s arms. The contact makes his skin tingle.

“I’d like to be in a relationship with you.”

He swallows and forces himself to keep looking into Seunghyun’s eyes. “Good,” he says, and it is. “Me too.”

“But that means you have to tell me when you’re having days like this and I’ll do the same,” Seunghyun adds, voice low. Like he’ll pop their bubble of honesty if he speaks too loud. “You don’t need to talk about it, not if you don’t want to, but I need to know so I don’t say or do something stupid and we end up pissed at each other for no reason.”

“I think I can handle that,” Jiyong says.

“I’d also like to remind you that I’m here, when you need someone to be here. Or even when you’re not sure or when I’m in a weird space.” Seunghyun’s eyes seem to burn through him with their sincerity. “Because I want to help, if you’ll let me, and I can’t do that if I don’t know where your head’s at.”

“I know,” he replies and has to look away, his chest starting to feel constricted. Too full. “I’ll try. I’m just not used to...all of this.”

Which is a huge understatement, since there has never been a single person in his life who even thought that he might need real help.  _ And who’s fault is that? _ Jiyong frowns, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It’s not easy,” Seunghyun says, pulling him back.

He huffs and shakes his head. “No. It’s not.”

In fact, he almost wants to pinch himself, just in case he’s having a hyper-realistic dream and this isn’t actually happening. But then Seunghyun steps closer again, both hands sliding up to cradle his face, and Jiyong thinks his brain would probably never be this nice to him, no matter how hard he tried.

Seunghyun tilts his head up, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and he already wants to cry, he doesn’t even need to hear the profoundly cheesy sentiment he knows is coming. But he listens anyway. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“You are brave. And you can do this,” Seunghyun says with all that conviction he doesn’t have yet. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

Jiyong lets go of a shaky breath, his arms unfurling, stomach bunching into knots. He remembers that Seunghyun’s been through this, or worse. That he  _ still _ has to deal with this. He remembers that, for reasons beyond his comprehension, Seunghyun likes him enough to stick around and trudge through Jiyong’s bullshit, because that’s what someone does when they really care.

Lifting his hands, Jiyong sinks them into the rough material of Seunghyun’s coat and wants to speak, but can’t find the words.

_ Gratefulness _ , he thinks. He can do that, too.

“Thank you.”

The bottomless wells of Seunghyun’s dimples tell him Seunghyun understands the “thank you” was for more than just now. It was for everything. And Jiyong decides he has no problem repeating it a hundred times in a hundred different ways.

“Can I kiss you?” Seunghyun asks quietly, stealing his thunder.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he whispers and Seunghyun laughs.

“I don’t care.”

So neither does Jiyong, his fingers tightening their grip on Seunghyun’s coat as they meet each other somewhere in the middle.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Old habits are the hardest to let go of when everything but the sky itself is too small to contain his thoughts.

That’s why Saturday night finds Jiyong wandering streets he hasn’t seen in a while, needing the crisp air and the feeling of the earth moving beneath his feet. Not because he wants to disappear. Not because he wants to feel less alone, either. It’s just to remember that he’s here—a tiny, microscopic point out of millions, but still a part of something, even if he is momentary and insignificant. They all are. And that thought is more comforting now than it ever has been.

The other bodies on the sidewalk hustle past him, single-minded in their determination to escape the cold. Jiyong takes his time. He’s freezing his ass off, but the ice seeping into his bones is a poignant reminder that he’s alive, at least. A note-to-self that this body might not be anything special—that no body is special—but it’s his, and he should probably learn to treat it a little better. Especially if he wants to get anywhere.

Jiyong stops at an intersection, waiting for the signal to change. The air smells like the promise of snow and the sky is clear for once, uninhabited by clouds and the light pollution that comes with it. He looks up at the tall buildings; thinks they feel less oppressive like this, more shadow than steel and cement and glass. Jiyong breathes in. His nose is numb and his feet hurt, but something about tonight doesn’t want to let him go yet.

Then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he smiles at the screen.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 20 12:32AM]**

Where are you?

**[Sent: Nov 20 12:33AM]**

walking

**[Sent: Nov 20 12:33AM]**

what’s up?

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 20 12:33AM]**

Text me when you’re almost

home and meet me on the

roof <3

_ Home _ . Jiyong isn’t sure it deserves the title, he hasn’t opened a single box and he still doesn’t think of the apartment as a thing that belongs to him. Even the house he grew up in never felt like home. That’s probably a good enough reason to start making up his own definition, though. He’s been thinking about that a lot the last few days—reshaping himself instead of living with the shape he already was. The one he was given, because he didn’t care enough to protest.

Jiyong sighs and crosses the street, making a slow arc back to their building, and idly wonders what’s waiting for him on the roof.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


By about one o’clock in the morning, he takes the fire escape all the way up to Seunghyun’s apartment, then higher up a short ladder and over the parapet onto loose gravel. It’s surprisingly dark, no orange, streetlamp glow to guide him at this height. No moon, either, now that he’s looking.

“Wow,” Jiyong breathes. No moon, but a handful of stars—more stars than you’d think would be visible while still in the city. He hadn’t noticed earlier. He’s definitely noticing now.

“Jiyong?” Seunghyun calls, somewhere he can’t see.

“You expecting someone else?” Jiyong asks.

There’s laughter and the dark shape of Seunghyun walking over.

“Yeah, but you’ll do.”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

Seunghyun’s smile is faint in the half-light as he throws an arm around Jiyong’s shoulders.

“Come on, I’ve got a blanket laid out.”

“What? It’s freezing.”

“Don’t tell me you wanna go inside on a night like this,” Seunghyun practically begs, pulling him forward. “It’s never like this.”

Which is a fair point. He just wishes it wasn’t quite so cold. Or that he hadn’t already been out for the last hour. Jiyong sighs and lowers himself onto the pale square of fabric, letting Seunghyun pull them both down onto their backs. All he sees is sky. They’re too high for anything else, even the other buildings on their block.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” Seunghyun asks, voice small with wonder.

Jiyong’s lips curve upward without much effort.

“Yeah.”

The city still outshines most of the stars, but it’s pretty. Quiet and peaceful so early in the morning. He shifts closer to Seunghyun’s warmth, suppressing a shiver, and Seunghyun grins over at him. Jiyong thinks he looks like a kid barely keeping his excitement in check.

“My dad used to take me out in the backyard and tell me about the constellations. But sometimes he couldn’t remember how all the stories went, so he’d make his own,” Seunghyun says, chuckling. “Like Ursa Major. The original Roman myth is that Jupiter can never keep it in his pants, right? He sees Callisto and falls for her, then his wife Juno gets pissed and turns her into a bear so Jupiter won’t like her anymore. But Callisto’s son Arcas becomes a hunter and obviously doesn’t know his mom is now a wild animal, so he tries to shoot her. Jupiter isn’t a total dick and stops the arrow, turns Arcas into a bear too, then flings them both up into the heavens to save them from his wife’s anger, etcetera. Big Dipper and Little Dipper.”

Seunghyun pauses to laugh again, glancing towards Jiyong as he speaks, voice getting louder with his growing enthusiasm.

“But there’s this South Korean myth, where they’re called the seven stars of the north. A widow meets a widower, only she has to cross the river to get to his house. So her seven sons placed stepping stones in secret to help her. The widow, unaware that it was her sons behind the act, blessed whoever laid the stones, and when they died, they became the constellation as a reward for their kindness.

“Now my dad–” Seunghyun stops entirely when he realizes Jiyong is staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles. “I’m just impressed.”

Jiyong would bet money that Seunghyun is blushing, judging by the way he clears his throat and can’t stop grinning up at the sky.

“My, um, my dad...he always found a way to confuse the two stories. How, I have no idea. But Juno was the one who fell in love with the widow and somehow all the sons became bears.” Seunghyun shakes his head. “I still force him to tell me that version, anyway. It’s hilarious watching him try to remember all the shit he made up twenty years ago.”

He smiles again, studying the faint outline of Seunghyun’s profile in the darkness. It’s one of those strange moments when he thinks he might be okay—here, on the roof, after one o’clock in the morning listening to his boyfriend be a giant, adorable nerd. Jiyong can say that now, right? Boyfriend. The word feels more cumbersome than “friend” did, but he wants to get used to it. Wants it to be effortless.

Turning back to the night sky, he exhales, following the cloud of his breath before it dissipates.

“Your dad seems pretty cool.”

In his periphery, Seunghyun beams.

“He got me a telescope for my eighth birthday. Pretty sure he was more excited about it than I was, because he dragged me out almost every damn night to go look at stuff. My mom even started calling us her little space boys.”

Jiyong can’t help but snort. “That’s so cute it's gross,” he says.

“You ever do anything like that with your parents?” Seunghyun asks.

“No.” He fumbles with the zipper on his jacket, not letting himself hesitate. He can talk about this. “I never knew my father.”

The response is fierce and immediate, Seunghyun lifting up off the blanket.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Here I am babbling about how great my dad is and–”

But Jiyong cuts him off with a hand curled around his wrist. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re allowed to talk about your dad, I'm not upset.”

Even in the shadows, he can see the inky lines of Seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed upwards in distress. Jiyong gives him a half-smile and lifts his other hand to smooth them out.

“So, your mom raised you on her own?” Seunghyun asks after a beat, seeming to relax under his touch.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “She did her best, at least. I can’t really blame her for not knowing what to do with me. Neither of us really knew how to function like regular people. She was living in a fog and I was, well...the same as I am now, I guess.” Jiyong looks up at the stars. He huffs out a dry laugh. “We made quite the pair.”

Seunghyun’s gaze rests heavily on his face, cold fingers twining with cold fingers and squeezing.

“It’s not always gonna be like this.”

“I know.” Jiyong squeezes back. “But it’s almost like I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel different,” he admits.

For a long beat, neither of them speak. He lets his knees settle against Seunghyun’s legs, seeking more than just warmth, and thinks about why he can’t get over himself.

“One of my therapists used to feed me the dumbest fucking inspirational lines,” Seunghyun says, rolling his eyes. “It was the one thing I hated most about it, so I’ll spare you the regurgitation,” he smiles. “In my own words, though, I guess I’d say that, no matter how good we are at knocking ourselves down...there's dignity in the struggle to climb back up. Because, in my experience, even if I feel worthless or hopeless or all those other lesses, it's always better than giving into that shit and letting it win.”

“Yeah,” Jiyong agrees, laughing slightly. He doesn't know how good he is at fighting, but Seunghyun makes it sound possible, at least. Proof of living through the worst of himself and coming out on the other side. “Thanks,” he says, voice soft. “Sorry we always end up talking about this.”

Seunghyun scoffs. “Seriously? Please shut up,” he says, tugging until Jiyong’s laughing for real—tucked into the curve of his body and staring up at the sky again. “Do you know any constellations?”

He blinks. “Uh...Orion. The Big and Little Dipper. I think that’s it.”

“You’re terrible,” Seunghyun mutters.

Jiyong elbows him. “Then school me, Mr. Space Boy.”

Chuckling, Seunghyun takes a deep breath and points.

“We can’t see much right now, but Cassiopeia’s there. See the faint “W” shape?”

“I do.”

“And that’s Draco. As in dragon, not Malfoy,” Seunghyun says, finger sweeping across the sky.

“Ha ha,” he drones. “I don’t see it.”

“Give me your hand.”

Jiyong does. Seunghyun leans in until their heads knock together and fits his own hand over Jiyong’s, aligning their index fingers. Guiding him, Seunghyun traces a small box of stars first.

“His head starts up here...and then winds its way down, the tail ending in between Ursa Major and Minor.”

But he still can’t make out half the stars he thinks should probably be visible. Obviously Seunghyun knows most of them by heart.

“What’s the story behind the dragon?” Jiyong asks. Their arms drop and Seunghyun doesn’t let go.

“There are a few. The one that makes the most sense is the Greek myth. In the twelve labors of Hercules, he has to steal some of the golden apples from Hera’s garden. Ladon was the dragon guarding the tree and, of course, Hercules kills it in order to get them. In the end, Hera was so saddened by Ladon’s death that she immortalized him in the stars.”

There’s something almost wistful in Seunghyun’s tone. He wonders what that’s like—finding so much joy in a thing that you have to devour as much information as you can. That you become attached to it. Like it belongs to you. And in a way, it does, he supposes. Jiyong angles his head back to look at Seunghyun.

“This might seem like a stupid question—and it’s not that I don’t think this shit is fascinating, because I do—I'm just curious, why you love it so much,” he asks.

“I don’t really know how to explain it.” Seunghyun’s eyes narrow at the sky. Like he’s searching the heavens for an answer. “I guess it’s because I like the way it makes me feel small. And I like thinking about how fucked up it is that we exist. That there are countless other galaxies out there, full of strange planets and probably stranger lifeforms.” He tosses Jiyong a brief, giddy smile before looking up again. “I mean, the universe is endless and ever-expanding, how is that not the biggest headtrip? And it’s  _ beautiful _ . In the kind of way I don’t think anyone can describe, because it’ll never be enough.”

He finds himself tracing the faint details of Seunghyun’s face again, remembering when he first told Jiyong what his tattoos meant. At the time, they were cool and interesting—another detail he could pretend he wasn’t collecting and keeping safe. But with Seunghyun’s complete and total adoration on display, it’s hard not to consider himself lucky that Seunghyun chose to share this with him.

Jiyong’s throat tightens in what he recognizes as feeling too many things at once and he rests his head on Seunghyun’s shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing me up here,” he manages around the lump.

“You’re welcome.” Seunghyun plants a kiss in his hair. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“We should probably go in, though. My fingers are numb and I can’t feel my face,” Jiyong mumbles, another shiver threatening to tear through him, cold reaching down into his muscles. As much as he doesn’t want to leave, there  _ is _ only so much he can handle.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason,” Seunghyun sighs, laughing when Jiyong thumps him weakly on the chest.

Together, they stumble up from the hard ground, joints stiff with November chill, and make their way back down to the fire escape. Seunghyun throws the blanket into his apartment and gestures towards the stairs.

“I’ll walk you.”

Jiyong rolls his eyes, turning to hide his smirk.

“Was that our first date?” he asks dryly.

“If you wanna get technical, I think that was our sixth,” Seunghyun answers when they hit the next landing. “Coffee, dinner, pancakes, couch, movie, and now freezing our asses off on the roof.”

He stops in front of the window, a little surprised that Seunghyun actually counts nearly every interaction they’ve had since they met. The flutter bursts to life in the pit of his stomach. Jiyong embraces the sensation and spins on his heel.

“It was worth it,” he says, heat pushing against the numbness in his cheeks.

Seunghyun’s grin is slow and sweet and Jiyong can only take so much of that, too, impulsively reaching out to grab handfuls of thick wool and bring them closer. He fits their mouths together with the kind of ease he wishes he could apply to everything else, savoring the contrast of cold lips and hot breath. When bold fingers skirt the curve of his ass, it sparks something in him, and he smiles. Remembers that rush of adrenaline and want; the ways people connect. Jiyong doesn't know if he's ready for that. Or at least he won't until he's there, but he does know that he doesn't want this to be over yet.

“Um…” he starts, drawing back a bit, heart spinning in his chest, dizzy. “Do you think– do you maybe wanna stay?” he asks. Seunghyun seems surprised and Jiyong laughs, rushing to explain. “Sleeping only. I just– I really don’t want you to go.”

Jiyong’s face is on fire now and he might be sweating under his layers, but he just inhales and exhales and stares at Seunghyun's ridiculous face.

“I would  _ love _ to sleep with you,” Seunghyun replies, practically glittering with amusement.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Jiyong sighs, pulling away to open the window before they end up stuck out there forever.

“How was that annoying?”

“Because you’re stupid and adorable.”

“I don’t understand why this is a bad thing.”

He shakes his head and climbs inside. “You wouldn’t.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seunghyun huffs, still beaming when he follows, so Jiyong isn’t really worried about it.

“It means you’re already well aware of how stupid and adorable you are,” he complains and walks across the darkened living room into the bedroom.

Jiyong flicks the switch; hears Seunghyun slide the window shut and lock it. The sound feels just as final as everything else has, like he’s gradually working his way through these imagined checkpoints where he intentionally pushes himself into uncharted territory. It’s progress, yeah. But it’s still weird to acknowledge it when it’s happening.

“I reiterate,” Seunghyun announces, moving to lean against the door jamb. “How is this a bad thing?”

He lingers in the middle of the room, the words leaping onto the tip of his tongue.

“Because I eat it up and you totally use that against me,” Jiyong admits.

They’ve kissed—many, many times—and been super gross with each other and for whatever reason, saying that out loud makes him feel about half his age. Seunghyun’s dimples are back in action, though—a shyness to his expression that Jiyong doesn’t catch often.

“I like seeing you ignite,” Seunghyun explains quietly.

His brows furrow as he takes a step towards him. “What?”

“When you stop thinking too much and just react,” Seunghyun continues, hands tucked under his armpits. “Like me singing the rubber ducky song and you hysterically wheezing your way into an early grave.” He blushes and coughs out a laugh. “Turns out being myself is pretty good kindling.”

Jiyong can’t decide if it’s the metaphor or the sentiment that gets to him more. But when he reaches out again, pulling Seunghyun into the room, that's easy, too. And maybe a little surreal. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this sure about anything, the way it all seems right, like it did on the roof. Jiyong lets it settle over him instead of freaking out. He has to get used to this. Has to make it stick.

“Stupid and adorable,” he repeats, resting his forehead against Seunghyun’s.

Seunghyun gives him another goofy grin and holds him close and Jiyong wonders if the swoop of vertigo in his stomach means what he thinks it means.

  
  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


The next morning, Jiyong wakes up and can’t categorize the way that he feels.

It's not the worst thing, really. Neither is the weight of the arm thrown over him or the even rhythm of breath that isn't his, each puff sending a burst of warmth through his t-shirt. Seunghyun snuffles and sighs, burrowing deeper into the gap between Jiyong's shoulder and the bed. He bites down on a laugh, but his stomach jumps anyway, and he looks up at the ceiling instead. Then at the dinosaur drawing taped to the wall. Jiyong exhales unsteadily.

The part of him that isn't an asshole thinks this is still happiness. He doesn't really have a frame of reference, so he can't agree or disagree. He just has right now and right now he thinks he's a lot of things. Jiyong doesn't know if those things have names. He's not sure if he cares.

Seunghyun shifts again, hugging him tighter, and he thinks that it’s probably okay not to care about anything else that isn't this.

“Nnngh.”

Jiyong smiles. “Morning.”

“Nnnnnngh.”

A short laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “I take it you're not a morning person.”

“Not when I don't have t'be,” Seunghyun mumbles, his pink nest wobbling as he emerges from under Jiyong's arm and groans again, squinting against the gray light.

It might be the first time he's seen Seunghyun without his glasses on. The same, but different, because there's something unguarded about his face. Something irrefutably real that kind of makes Jiyong realize how uncomfortable he should be in this situation, but isn't. Surprisingly. He takes advantage of his self-consciousness being elsewhere, reaching over to card a hand through Seunghyun's hair, letting the pale, fading strands slip between his fingers and then doing it again.

Seunghyun closes his eyes. Jiyong lets out another unsteady exhale. He doesn't want this to be weird, even if it kind of is, in an objective way. Because he's never been here. Fallen asleep with someone, woken up with them, then wondered if he was having an out of body experience.

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” Jiyong says quietly, despite not wanting to pop this particular bubble. Maybe even more so than any other bubble he never wanted to pop.

But Seunghyun shakes his head, eyelids dragging open, grin lazy. “Not a chance in hell.”

He snorts and drops his hand. Seunghyun stares, exuding all that soft, squishy affection. The longer it goes on, the more Jiyong wants to squirm—wants to crawl out of his skin—because it's too early to be thinking about why he likes it so much.

“Stop,” he huffs, trying not to grin right back.

“You stop,” Seunghyun replies and leans closer, waggling his eyebrows.

Jiyong laughs and makes a strangled noise of protest when Seunghyun proceeds to mash their faces together.

“I'm not the one being gross,” he almost giggles.

“If you could see yourself right now, you wouldn't be saying that.”

Which is probably true. Jiyong doesn't need to know that, though, he's already blushing up a storm. Worse, when Seunghyun rolls on top of him, the laughter promptly dying in his throat.

He swallows, hands automatically going to Seunghyun's waist and heart stuttering into a sprint, because it's been a while since he knew what the weight of another person felt like. The pressure of thighs bracketing hips and something electric unfurling in the pit of his stomach.

“Is this okay?” Seunghyun asks, concerned eyebrows at odds with the warmth radiating from his gaze.

“Yeah.”

Jiyong's fingers twitch against Seunghyun's back, thumbs rubbing ever so slightly at threadbare fabric. He remembers hooking up with guys at parties in college. Mindless, no-strings fucking around that he thought would help him feel less empty. He was wrong, obviously. Or it seemed obvious after the fact when nothing had changed. Jiyong understands that where he is in this moment isn't the same. So far from the same. It's why his hand trembles just a little bit when he trails it up Seunghyun's spine, his neck, straight into the mess of his hair.

He's been here, but he hasn't been  _ here _ , and the small, contented smile that tugs at Seunghyun's mouth is the most important distinction.

“Can I kiss you?” Seunghyun murmurs.

“You don't have to ask,” he answers.

“I like asking,” Seunghyun insists, ducking lower to trail his nose along the curve of Jiyong's cheek, whispering in his ear, “I like the way you look when I ask.”

Jiyong sucks in a quick breath, amazed by how much that gets to him. Amazed that it was so easy to go from zero to sixty when he didn't even know he had a sixty anymore. Fingers pressing against Seunghyun's waist and clenching at his hair, he finds himself saying, “Ask me again.”

Slowly, Seunghyun lifts his head, smiling wider than before. Jiyong's skin prickles in anticipation, and that's...new. Strange. Awesome in the kind of way he's only just beginning to enjoy, even though his heart's beating wildly out of rhythm and he might dissolve at any moment. Especially when Seunghyun leans in, lips close but not close enough.

“Can I kiss you?”

There's an audible tremor in Seunghyun's voice. An unavoidable intensity in his focus that has Jiyong fighting to think clearly.

“The answer's always gonna be yes,” he says, a bit breathless.

Seunghyun laughs. “And I'm always gonna ask.”

Jiyong fights the urge to roll his eyes, stomach doing some crazy kind of acrobatic shit as Seunghyun eases both hands into his hair—still smiling, still overwhelming in every way possible.

“So kiss me already,” Jiyong whispers.

“As you wish,” Seunghyun says, swallowing Jiyong's hiccuped giggles and turning them into a pleased moan.

He might be more embarrassed about the noises he's making if he could process anything beyond the way Seunghyun's lips slide and catch against his own. The drag of fingertips over his scalp, the radical spike in his pulse when Seunghyun's tongue teases at the edge of his mouth, asking permission again. A thrill ripples through Jiyong as he opens to let him in, because it always feels like the first time.

He slips his own hands under Seunghyun's shirt, meeting warm skin, but it's hard to remember how to move his body when it's moving with another body. Like the fact that he doesn't have to over-analyze where to put his limbs and when. Or that he doesn't have to lie there like a dead fish, letting it all happen to him.

“I can hear you,” Seunghyun mumbles, nipping at Jiyong's mouth, his chin. He grins.

“Sorry.”

Seunghyun lifts up slightly to look down at him. “It's just me.”

“That doesn't help,” Jiyong mutters wryly, earning himself a pair of crinkled eyes and dimples to match.

Eventually Jiyong does remember, though—slowly exploring the contours of Seunghyun's back. He takes note of the small imperfections. Moles, divots, the smooth expanses in between. Seunghyun hums, crinkled eyes closing, and he feels it everywhere. It makes him want to explore with more than just his hands, which is a want he's not accustomed to having.

Tracing the hard lines of Seunghyun's shoulder blades, Jiyong inhales and exhales, watching Seunghyun's face. The way he looks so relaxed. Happy.  _ Comfortable _ . Jiyong's stomach flutters at how much of a turn on that is and he tilts his head up to kiss Seunghyun a little harder than before. A kiss with intent, because it's okay to want this. It's okay to let himself go.

Seunghyun groans low in his throat and that sounds happy, too, his grip tightening in Jiyong's hair as he responds with...a lot of enthusiasm. Jiyong can't help but smile, which of course makes Seunghyun smile, and next thing he knows, his body has developed a mind of its own—hips rocking upwards into the curve of Seunghyun's legs.

“Shit,” Seunghyun sighs as he breaks away, forehead resting against his. Jiyong does it again and Seunghyun laughs, thighs squeezing around him, keeping him still. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Jiyong swallows. He feels like every nerve in his body is buzzing.

Pulling back more, Seunghyun looks at him directly, brows raised, pupils blown. “Really, really sure?”

Jiyong huffs. “I'm not–“ he stops, a grin tugging at his lips and blush in his cheeks. “I'm not asking you to fuck me,” he says bluntly. Seunghyun's eyebrows lift higher, but he keeps going before he loses his confidence. “Just this,” he adds, deliberately rolling up against him. 

Seunghyun's eyelashes flutter as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Jesus, Jiyong.”

“Please.”

The asking is what does it—Seunghyun immediately giving him his full, undivided attention. They were going to end up here sooner or later. And the fact that they even made it this far without getting each other off has more to do with Seunghyun being overly cautious than Jiyong's fucked up anything. He's still human. Most days, at least.

“You're gonna ruin mornings for me,” Seunghyun says.

He scoffs. “Why?”

“Because it's not gonna happen every day.”

Seunghyun's joking, but also not—Jiyong can see that along with the laser focus zeroed in on his mouth. His stomach flops and curls in on itself, because every day actually sounds pretty great. With or without the orgasms.

“It could?” he half-laughs. And maybe it wasn't happiness, maybe it was a concussion, since he can't think of a time he ever felt this giddy. Or bold.

His answer is Seunghyun's grinning lips attacking his lips, more deep laughter rumbling through him as Seunghyun moves, rolling them slightly and easing his knee between Jiyong's legs. He sucks in a breath, heart thundering in his chest. Seunghyun strokes down his side, along his waist and his hip and the edge of his boxers until long fingers sink into his skin.

Just this, Jiyong thinks—just the two of them lying here pressed together—is already more intense than anything else he's ever experienced.

He brushes a kiss over Seunghyun's jaw, feels stubble and hears his throat working as the moment stretches, neither of them taking initiative. Even though the tension is coiled so tight, it wouldn't take much to set either of them off. Jiyong drags his hands down to the small of Seunghyun's back while Seunghyun rubs circles into his thigh. As nice as it would be to lie there in anticipation forever, he can't ignore the want, and he breaks first, rocking up against lean muscle.

Another heavy sigh tumbles out of Seunghyun's mouth, followed by the softest moan when he reciprocates. Jiyong closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing, concentrating on the heat. The friction and the pressure and how surreal it all feels.

“You don't have to hold back,” he says.

Seunghyun drags his lips and his teeth down the side of Jiyong's neck, making him shudder and then groan when Seunghyun grinds against him.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Jiyong almost whines.

“Good?” Seunghyun asks, the width of his smile pressing into Jiyong's hammering pulse as he continues, the movement of his hips slow but mindblowing.

How is he supposed to respond to that? Even if he had the brain power to think of the right word, “good” would still be the shittiest adjective to describe their current situation.

So Jiyong lets his hand find its way underneath the waistband of Seunghyun's boxer-briefs and mold to the curve of his ass, squeezing. Seunghyun's hips buck sharply and they both moan.

“That answer your question?”

“Yup,” Seunghyun answers readily, mouth reattaching itself to Jiyong's.

It's sloppy—all teeth and tongue because neither of them knows how to stop smiling. He can't remember a time he ever smiled this much. To the point where it aches in more than just his cheeks. Jiyong wraps his other arm around Seunghyun's shoulders and tries to anchor himself, but everything feels liquid and bright and like he can't hold onto anything. Not when they're panting into each other's mouths, rutting against one another like they're seventeen and desperate. Not when Seunghyun keeps sucking on his lower lip and gripping his thigh hard enough to bruise. He knew he wasn't going to last, but the knot of pressure is already too much.

“I'm--” Jiyong chokes on the word.

“Go ahead,” Seunghyun urges, sweeping the damp hair away from Jiyong's forehead.

In the middle of everything, it's hard to tell what it is exactly that sends him tumbling over the edge—the giving of permission or the soft look in Seunghyun's eyes when he does. Either way, Jiyong goes, jaw cracking open on a silent groan as his toes curl against Seunghyun's calf and a tidal wave of relief crashes through him.

“Oh my god.”

Seunghyun chuckles, eliciting another shiver. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, even though the rest of him feels like it's made out of something molten and loose. Scattered, but all in one place. Jiyong stares back at Seunghyun in a daze, too fuzzy to be flustered by the way Seunghyun seems so happy to watch him come in his goddamn underwear. Underwear that is actually kind of disgusting now, killing his afterglow.

“Well that was embarrassing,” Jiyong says. “Did you...?”

“Not yet,” Seunghyun breathes.

He nods and chews on inside of his cheek.

“Can I?”

Seunghyun's mouth spasms into a broad grin. “Like I'm gonna say no?”

“I thought it was polite to ask,” he teases, earning himself more rumbling laughter.

Jiyong's fingertips still tingle as he nudges Seunghyun onto his back and settles over his thighs. He thinks, maybe, that he didn't forget as much as he thought he had, because it feels okay, being there—seeing Seunghyun beneath him, melting into the sheets, shirt bunched up and wrinkled. And he knows that he decided not to hold onto every single detail as tight as he possibly could, but this? This he wants to keep. Wants to play it on repeat like his favorite songs. Gently, Jiyong touches the permanent ink curling across Seunghyun's hip and Seunghyun's breath hitches, hands twitching where they're thrown above his head. He smiles again.

“What?” Seunghyun asks, shifting under him.

“It's–“ Jiyong stops, some of that self-consciousness finally bubbling to the surface, and he follows the line of stars on Seunghyun's skin, watching the way his muscles jump, fascinated. “I've, um...I've just never done this and given a shit,” he admits quietly. He's also never had a boyfriend before, but that's besides the point. Jiyong hazards a glance at Seunghyun and takes a deep breath. “I like it.”

_ A lot _ , he doesn't say, even though it's probably hard to miss.

One of Seunghyun's hands reaches out to take his, lifting and pushing their palms together. Jiyong's smile widens as he looks at their fingers when they tangle—the sappy expression on Seunghyun's face—and doesn't freak out about how small he feels. Too small to house the flutter or the itch or all those things he can't categorize.

“I'm glad it was with me,” Seunghyun says.

“Yeah,” he huffs, trying not to blush quite so hard. “Me, too.”

Jiyong's throat tightens as they stare at each other. There's more he should say, but he doesn't think he can. So he just guides Seunghyun's hand back down against the pillows and ducks low to press a lingering kiss to his stomach. Seunghyun breathes and his ribcage swells beneath Jiyong's mouth, the movement faltering when he presses another to the soft spot above Seunghyun's hip, flicking his tongue out to taste.

Seunghyun gasps and Jiyong feels himself grow bolder, dragging his fingertips along the elastic waistband of Seunghyun's underwear as he sits up, watching as he peels it away, exposing the length of Seunghyun's cock. Jiyong doubts himself for all of three seconds before he lightly wraps his hand around the base and slowly strokes upwards, getting reacquainted with the sensation. The heat and the weight and the drag of it against his palm.

Seunghyun tries to roll his hips, but doesn't get very far with Jiyong sitting on top of him, and he lifts his head, totally unprepared for the way he's being looked at. Like Seunghyun wants to eat Jiyong, even though he's barely done anything. An unfamiliar thrill zips straight through him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You mean aside from the fact that your hand is currently on my dick?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

Seunghyun clenches the pillow tightly, gaze tracking Jiyong's hand as it continues its gentle exploration. “Not like it's a surprise, but I've, um– I've been thinking about this—about you—for a long time,” he reveals, voice low.

His eyebrows raise, because he  _ is _ surprised, and another thrill echoes the last.

“How long?” Jiyong asks, his thumb swiping over the head to collect precome. Seunghyun's mouth falls open on a ragged sigh.

“I should've known you'd be an evil little shit.”

He snorts.

“Just tell me.”

“I dunno, like two–” Seunghyun cuts off, moaning when Jiyong presses against the sensitive patch of nerves just under the crown. “Seriously. Evil.”

Jiyong smiles. “Two what?”

“Months.”

“Wow.” His concentration wavers while that information sinks in. Two months is a long time to want someone. “Sorry for making you wait.”

“Would you shut up? I'm–” Seunghyun lifts his eyebrows and gestures pointedly at where Jiyong's fingers are curling more firmly around his cock. “I'm not complaining.”

Still, he blushes, not sure what to do with all this newfound, for lack of a better word, power. The fact that Seunghyun has wanted him since the day they met.  _ Him _ . Before he knew about any of Jiyong's bullshit hangups. Before Jiyong knew about any of his.

Another thrill loops through his stomach and Jiyong leans forward on one arm, swiping more precome from the head and stroking Seunghyun in earnest. Seunghyun touches his face and doesn't look away once, not even when he's hanging right there on the edge a few moments later.

“Fuck, you're gorgeous like this,” Seunghyun blurts.

A startled burst of laughter spills out of his mouth.

“I can't believe you're complimenting me when you're about to come all over my hand.”

“F-Fuck off,” Seunghyun groans, body going stiff as he does just that, his fingernails digging into the back of Jiyong's neck. “ _ Oh _ , shit.”

He almost wishes he could come again, what with the image of Seunghyun sprawled on his bed all flushed and golden in the late morning light as he hits orgasm. Jiyong's definitely not the one who's gorgeous.

“You're ridiculous,” he says and wipes his hand off on his shirt before he tucks Seunghyun back into his boxer-briefs.

“Excuse me,” Seunghyun protests, arms flopping over his head. “You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are you kidding, you looked like you were trying to pull my soul out of my dick with your mind instead of your hand.”

Jiyong pretty much cackles. “ _ What? _ ”

“I'm serious.” Seunghyun grins and reaches for him, pulling him down onto the mattress. “It was hot as fuck.”

“So weird,” Jiyong mutters. He tries to narrow his eyes, but Seunghyun's face is all up in his face and his lips are already quirking.

“You love it,” Seunghyun whispers, mouth fitting against Jiyong's easily.

He deepens the kiss instead of answering. Not because he disagrees, but because he doesn't think he's capable of using that word casually.

“We should probably take a shower.”

Seunghyun shakes his head and flings a leg over Jiyong's waist. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” he replies, amused. “But if I fall asleep again, you have to carry me.”

“Done.”

When Seunghyun yawns three seconds after, Jiyong loses all hope of leaving this bed and the entire apartment as a whole.


	6. part 6

The more Jiyong thinks about it, the more he comes to accept the fact that everyone, by default, goes through the early chapters of their lives without reference. Without personal history to inform those future histories-in-the-making. He's not an outlier, he knows that. Even at the ripe old age of twenty-six. Jiyong just wishes that he had some actual points or frames or whatever for this whole “being in a relationship” thing, because it's a completely new location on the map for him, and to be totally honest, he feels a little more lost than usual.

Which he should be used to, right? Considering how much he actively tries to emulate that particular emotion.

Sighing, Jiyong cuts through the tape on the closest box and pulls out a book he doesn't remember buying let alone reading, and puts it on the shelf anyway.

It's not even that he's upset or anything. He's unpacking for fuck's sake, this might as well be his version of catatonic with joy. It's just that there's been an obvious shift into a state of mind he's never inhabited before. Someplace Jiyong can't really be comfortable yet, since his toes are still the only thing that's wet.

And he worries about jinxing it. Worries that he'll never be able to change enough to make it work. Worries Seunghyun will get frustrated and give up and walk away, because his brain is still, mostly, a gigantic asshole.

Jiyong frowns, shoving another book onto the shelf. He doesn't need this shit. Doesn't want this shit. He scrubs both hands over his face and breathes in through his nose.

“Just focus on the books,” Jiyong mumbles to himself.

There aren't that many. Four small boxes out of seven. He manages to find a home for all of them, even if that home is on top of the bookshelf instead of inside it. The sense of accomplishment sits awkwardly on his shoulders as he breaks down the cardboard and goes to store them in the closet by the front door. Only three left now, full of god knows what. Jiyong's not really in the mood to deal with it and he stands there in the foyer, staring at the new spaces in the living room, unsure of what it is he's feeling. Whatever it is, it's not bad. There's no evidence of the itch. No urge to flee the scene. Jiyong fishes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture, texting it to Seunghyun.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:03PM]**

Who are you and what have

you done with my boyfriend??

????????????????

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:04PM]**

yes, you're hilarious

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:04PM]**

:D

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 23 6:04PM]**

You're not freaking out, are

you?

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:05PM]**

no, i'm fine

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:05PM]**

i feel okay. weirdly enough

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 23 6:05PM]**

Wish I didn't have to work

for another 6 hours. I'd

help you celebrate ;p

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Nov 23 6:06PM]**

If you know what I mean

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

Jiyong shakes his head, smiling.

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:06PM]**

maybe if you used a few more

winky faces, i'd figure it out

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent: Nov 23 6:07PM]**

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

He laughs outright and it's pretty close to effortless, chest feeling tight with fondness instead of anxiety or nerves. But that's more Seunghyun's doing than it is him. He's so much in transition that he doesn't know what he really is most of the time. Moderately okay, maybe. Better than he was with a penchant for backsliding. Occasionally something approximating happy.

Is that progress? Probably, yeah.

Jiyong tries to internalize that and make it stick, wandering over to the fridge. There's leftover mac and cheese that didn't come from a box, because Seunghyun prepared it the other night with the sole purpose of ensuring Jiyong didn't die of starvation while he was at work.

“Where would I be without you?” he asks the relative silence of the kitchen, grabbing the container and a clean pot on his way to the stove.

He's not actually that helpless. But Seunghyun likes to take care of him and Jiyong likes that he likes it. Which is a lot, admitting it to himself. As is admitting that he wants to reciprocate, if he can. He's just not sure he knows how. It's one of the reasons he feels so lost.

Stirring the noodles with one hand, Jiyong checks the time on his phone with the other, realizing it's only been five minutes. He never thought he'd be the cliché—counting the hours until he could see someone again, thinking about them every second he's not thinking about something else. It's almost embarrassing. Except that with Seunghyun around, it's easier to be whatever he is and not hate himself for it. Or feel weird when he doesn't, which is starting to happen a lot more often.

“Shit, maybe I really am a pod person,” Jiyong mutters.

Somewhere, off in the distance, he's pretty sure he can hear Ethan whooping in triumph.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


In the spirit of keeping a good thing going, Jiyong takes another brave step outside of his comfort zone on day fifty-nine. For the average person, wading blindly into the murky depths of socializing in public isn't usually a big deal. For him it's a little different. Especially because it's Thanksgiving weekend. At night. In a bar. Seunghyun's bar, specifically. The one with the crazy old guy who thinks he's from another planet and a bunch of judgmental hipsters. It seemed like a good idea at the time—Jiyong had already been out for a walk for the sake of walking, head in a decent place, vulnerable to impulse. But he forgot it was Friday and didn't think about how crowded it might be. How chaotic and loud with all the voices trying to be heard above the music spewing from the jukebox.

For about ten  _ very _ uncomfortable seconds, he hovers in fight or flight mode, wondering what the hell he was thinking. Then Seunghyun pops out from the back room behind the bar, a towel thrown over one shoulder and cotton candy hair in adorable disarray. Jiyong's heart pauses just long enough in its panic to trip over itself at the sight of him. He watches dumbly as Seunghyun sets down a crate of glasses, wipes his hands off on the towel, and moves to say something to his coworker. That's when Seunghyun's eyes look past the other bartender and land on Jiyong's probably hilariously conflicted face.

“Hey!”

He sees the exclamation more than hears it, but it doesn't take much to imagine the way it sounded coming out of Seunghyun's mouth. Surprised. Excited. Happy.

Jiyong awkwardly lifts his hand in a wave just as Seunghyun bounds over to him like the Cocker Spaniel that he is.

“What are you doing here?” he not-quite-shouts, all grins as he cups Jiyong's cheeks in his enormous hands. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Fuck, your face is so cold,” Seunghyun chuckles, leaning close and squishing said cold face until Jiyong's lips pucker like a fish.

He rolls his eyes—thinks he's probably blushing, but it's hard to tell since his cheeks are pretty much frozen solid.

“Come sit down, it's my turn to make you a drink.”

Seunghyun lets his hands drop, tugging on Jiyong's jacket. Jiyong follows him through the press of bodies and refuses to give in to the erratic skipping of his heartbeat when the noise reaches a brief crescendo. It almost drowns out the static in his head, but then Seunghyun is pushing him gently onto a stool at the far end of the bar counter. Then Seunghyun is smiling at him from the other side, affection written plainly in every crease and crinkle. Jiyong stares at his dimples and forgets about everyone else.

Well. Tries to.

“So's this the famous boyfriend I've heard so much about?” the other woman behind the bar asks with a soft twang in her voice, working on drying off some pint glasses. She's older—hair curling in wild salt and pepper tendrils from the ponytail thrown over her shoulder. Jiyong can see the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. The hints of inked lines dipping below the sleeves of her worn t-shirt.

Seunghyun's smile falters. “Val, this is Jiyong. Jiyong, Val. My boss.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jiyong offers.

“Likewise,” Val replies with a smirk. “Though this one here talks about you so much, I feel like I already have.”

The expression on Seunghyun's face speaks of the deepest betrayal. “ _ Really _ ?” he demands, arms flailing. “Just like that.”

Val tilts her head back and barks out a throaty laugh.

“What? It's the damn truth.”

“Ignore her,” Seunghyun pleads as he slumps forward on the counter. “What can I get you?”

Except Jiyong doesn't know how to answer, because he's marveling at their easy camaraderie. Like Ethan. Like Zahra. Like anyone, apparently, once Seunghyun can trust them with pieces of himself. He looks at Seunghyun looking at him and realizes that he's still jealous. He probably shouldn't be, because he is who he is and he's been doing a hell of a lot better, but...

There's always that fleeting moment when he thinks it would be infinitely easier to be someone else.

“You talk about me?” Jiyong asks, unable to help himself.

Seunghyun frowns at him slightly.

“It's kind of hard not to?”

Words he never thought he'd hear come out of anyone's mouth. “I'm surprised you even have anything to say,” Jiyong says with a self-deprecating huff.

“Ex _ cuse _ you,” Seunghyun balks, brows raised so high, it's a miracle they don't fly off his face. “I could talk myself hoarse before I ran out of things to say about you.”

He laughs, ducking his head and wishing he'd asked for a drink first, needing something to do with his hands besides wedge them into his armpits defensively.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Seunghyun scoffs. “I can't believe  _ you _ . Are you issuing an official challenge?”

“Maybe.” Jiyong smirks.

“We'll discuss this later,” Seunghyun tells him, pointing threateningly before reaching out to poke him in the forehead. “C'mon, drink. What do you want?”

“I dunno. You decide, since you seem to know me so well,” he quips, rubbing at the sore spot.

Seunghyun nods and pushes away from the bar, smile sharp. “I see how it is.”

He laughs again, mostly to himself, and watches as Seunghyun begins to drift around behind the bar.

Everything about this is still so weird. No matter how well he may or may not be doing at any given moment. It's really not even that he doesn't believe Seunghyun, because if anyone could find a way to talk about Jiyong until they lost their voice, it would be the idiot standing in front of him. It's more that they can joke about shit like this in the first place. That he's at a point where he can criticize and make fun of himself in the same breath. That he found someone who can call him out on it, then tease him mercilessly immediately after, because Seunghyun knows exactly what it's like. Doubting yourself right down to the marrow.

Jiyong chews on his lip. That might be a little dramatic. Still true.

“So, Jiyong, you gonna come to our open mic night in a couple weeks?” Val asks, interrupting his thoughts. “Our shining star'll be performing for the first time in quite a while.”

“You're worse than Ethan, you know that?” Seunghyun tosses over his shoulder.

“C'mon, let an old woman have her fun.”

She flicks her towel out to hit Seunghyun's back, making him rumble with laughter.

“I didn't know there was one coming up,” Jiyong says.

“For the record, I had every intention of asking you.” Seunghyun gives him a brief, but meaningful, look as he puts the finishing touches on his creation. “I'm just...nervous.”

Val snorts. “Hush, you'll be fine. You always steal the show.”

“No pressure, or anything,” Seunghyun sighs.

A curved tumbler of dark liquid appears in front of him, complete with a sprig of lavender leaning against the rim. Jiyong's lips twitch and he lifts the glass to take a sip, Seunghyun watching him carefully as he does. But he's not a very good actor, at least not when it comes to a certain pink-haired poet, and he couldn't have hid his surprise even if he'd wanted to—tastebuds assaulted by something both smoky and sweet. He smiles wider. Seunghyun grins in bashful triumph.

Then Val steps into their bubble once again, placing a hand on Seunghyun's arm.

“Why don't you take a few minutes, sweetheart. I can handle the bar.”

Right. The bar. Full of noisy strangers Jiyong had momentarily forgotten about. A wave of self-consciousness hits him as Seunghyun rounds the counter to sit beside him. He turns and glances at the crowded room over his shoulder, but Seunghyun's fingers splay out over his thigh, bringing him back before the panic can even think to resurface.

“How is it?” Seunghyun asks, leaning closer still.

“Good. Weird.” Jiyong takes another small sip and rolls the strange combination of flavors over his tongue. “What's in it?”

“Earl grey tea, gin, bit of honey and lemon.”

“I like it,” he decides. “I guess you do know me pretty well after all.”

The alcohol burns warm in his stomach. But it's no match for the softness in Seunghyun's eyes when he drops his head into his hand and starts dragging lazy circles against Jiyong's leg. Few things are. He breathes in slowly, the blend of music and chatter now a constant reminder that they're not actually alone. Jiyong breathes out and tells himself that it doesn't matter.

“I wasn't trying to keep secrets from you, by the way,” Seunghyun says, close enough now that he doesn't have to raise his voice to be heard. “I've just been having a hard time with this, uh, this new piece.”

“Can I help?” Jiyong asks. Seunghyun gives him a wry smile and drops his gaze to the small space between them.

“It was supposed to be a gift.”

_ Oh _ .

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat. “Y-You can still talk to me about it,” he offers, not allowing his brain to fixate on the reality of Seunghyun writing something  _ for _ him. “Even if it's just vague ranting. Or whatever.”

Seunghyun nods and looks up again. “Okay.”

Already, Jiyong knows that as soon as he's given a moment to let his thoughts take over, that he'll have to talk himself down from freaking out about it. The gacha toys were one thing. The meals and Seunghyun's unwavering and selfless presence another. This? This is something he can't even begin to acknowledge, so he doesn't. He just desperately finds a way to change the subject and ignores the all too familiar sensation occupying his chest.

“What time are we going over to Ethan's tomorrow, anyway?” He downs the rest of his drink in the hopes it smothers his customary urge to bolt.

“I think he said any time after five was cool.”

Jiyong nods now. He's really barreling through this non-existent checklist of firsts, isn't he. Though, honestly, he never imagined he'd be crossing off Thanksgiving, of all things. Seunghyun squeezes his thigh a little and Jiyong smiles.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Seunghyun asks, like he doesn't already know.

Lifting a shoulder, he sets his glass down, leaning on the counter and bringing himself further into Seunghyun's space. “They're not worth that much.”

Dark, amused eyes travel over his face. Jiyong tries not to shy away from the blatant admiration.

“Wouldn't ask if I didn't wanna know,” Seunghyun replies.

He huffs out a dry laugh. He should've seen that one coming, really. Jiyong takes another breath.

“I'm trying not to think about the fact that you're writing something for me,” he says, easy with his honesty for once. “And, in doing so, have started to psych myself out about tomorrow. On top of the fact that I'm sitting in a crowded bar on a Friday night.”

Seunghyun winces.

“Sorry.”

But Jiyong just squints at him. “Shut up,” he sighs, stealing Seunghyun's hand to hold it in both of his own. “It is what it is. I'm fine and you're an asshole, business as usual.”

This achieves the desired effect of drawing out Seunghyun's deep, rolling laughter. The blinding grin, dimples enthusiastically on display. Jiyong wonders if any part of this will ever seem real.

“Can you stay?” Seunghyun asks. He threads his fingers in between Jiyong's. “I don't have to close tonight, so I'm off in about an hour, and we can walk home together.”

_ We can walk home together _ . The need to laugh feels a bit like it might edge into hysteria if he let it.

“Yeah. I'll stay.”

“Awesome. I should get back.”

Seunghyun squeezes his fingers but doesn't let go, already halfway off the stool, like his body and his brain had two different ideas and didn't consult each other first. The result is Seunghyun's face hovering a few inches from his own and Jiyong is only capable of dealing with so much at once.

“I know I'm kind of putting you on the spot, because we've never really talked about it, but...” Seunghyun pauses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are your feelings on flagrant, public displays of affection?”

His own mouth begins to twitch in response, since astonishment isn't exactly at the forefront of things Jiyong is feeling right now. Undeserving is probably right there at the top. The good kind of overwhelmed coming in at a close second.

“If this is another way of asking whether or not you can kiss me, the answer hasn't changed,” he breathes.

Despite the explicit permission, Seunghyun still takes his sweet-ass time. It brings a flush back to his cheeks and invites the flutter to expand beyond its usual capacity, because even though Jiyong knows why, it only seems to make it that much worse. He also knows he could easily do something about the negligible amount of space between them himself. He could, but he doesn't. Jiyong's pretty sure Seunghyun gets off on the anticipation written all over his face.

Slowly, the fingers of Seunghyun's free hand lift to his jaw and slide around to the back of his neck. The bar sounds fade from his awareness, the beating of his own heart in his ears too loud. Seconds before Seunghyun closes the gap, Jiyong mentally declares his boyfriend  _ the fucking worst _ , and then thinks nothing at all, because there are soft lips pressing against his and it's...

It's really nice.

A bubble of amusement floats up from his lungs. Seunghyun grins as he pulls back, eyes crinkling in that overly fond way of his.

“Thank you.”

Jiyong's eyebrows knit together. “For?”

But Seunghyun shakes his head. “Just thank you,” he answers.

Then Seunghyun slips away to step behind the bar, leaving Jiyong feeling like his body is too small again. Too small for the creeping warmth filling all of his empty spaces and then some. Too small for the laughter still hanging around in his throat. He inhales, catches Seunghyun's gaze, and loses it.

“What's so funny?” Seunghyun asks, grinning through his confusion while he reaches for Jiyong's empty glass to clean it out.

“Nothing,” he giggles and sighs. Jiyong fans at his too-hot face and wonders if he's going to cycle through every conceivable human emotion tonight. “You're welcome.”

This elicits a pleased snort from Seunghyun, which only makes him start laughing harder. Strangers are probably looking at him like he's crazy. Or maybe no one's paying him any attention at all. Either way, he can't really bring himself to care much at the moment, enjoying the giddy weightlessness of what the part of him that isn't an asshole is still calling happiness.

“Am I gonna have to cut you off after one drink, Kwon?” Seunghyun teases, quirking a skeptical eyebrow at him, clearly trying to contain his own amusement.

“No, no. I swear I'm fine, just—“ Jiyong shoves a hand through his hair and takes another deep breath. His mouth won't stop curling. “I'm glad I decided to swing by. That's all.”

It's not all, but it'll have to do. He doesn't even know how to articulate what he's feeling to himself let alone anyone else. Seunghyun would probably understand anyway, and Jiyong thinks he probably still does, considering the sappy expression he's currently on the receiving end of.

“Me, too,” Seunghyun agrees.

“Make less eyes and more drinks, Seunghyun, or I'm puttin' you on closing shift,” Val interrupts gruffly, shuffling past him to get a bottle from one of the far shelves. “ _ Alone _ ,” she adds as a warning.

It's kind of hilarious—the panic that flickers over Seunghyun's face when he straightens and gives Val a rigid salute.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She smirks. “That's what I like to hear.”

Jiyong chuckles as Seunghyun slinks off like a scolded child. He watches him work for a few minutes. Watches the ease with which Seunghyun draws others into his orbit, even only temporarily. The ease with which he moves behind the bar, reaching for bottles and glasses without much of a thought, always aware of Val's position in relation to his own. It's like they're dancing. The choreographies that create themselves once you stop trying to do something and just do it. Jiyong knows he's nowhere near that level at the cafe, but seeing Seunghyun like this makes him want to be.

Dragging his finger through leftover condensation on the worn, wooden counter, he finds himself smiling again. Tomorrow might be hard. So could the next day, and the day after that. In fact, they probably will be, but the difference now, is that he thinks he's okay with that.

He inhales, catches Seunghyun's gaze, and feels grateful.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


When Jiyong was growing up, he always used to wonder what the big deal was about holidays. He'd barely celebrated his own birthday, let alone anything else. Didn't have enough friends to wonder why his non-participatory family of two might've been strange. Jiyong's dad left before he was old enough to miss him, his mom's side was scattered and too far away. Not to mention, she was in her own world most of the time. Probably didn't even register the days that were passing her by. Not in any meaningful capacity, anyway.

So this friends getting together and cooking together and keeping their respective family traditions alive thing is kind of beyond him. Kind of intimidating, kind of something that makes him feel wrong, because it's yet another thing he's missing. Which he knows is stupid. He went over this last night, he is who he is. And he is who he is because of the things he's missing. Still. It's yet another social experience he's never had before and Jiyong has only just gotten his sea legs. Or whatever.

_ Or whatever _ .

Then why does he suddenly feel like he's never been on a boat before in his life? Which he hasn't, actually, but for the sake of the metaphor, he's ignoring that small detail. Jiyong shoves a hand into his hair and continues to pace Seunghyun's kitchen, the smell of freshly baked cookies doing nothing to calm this jittery, anxious energy he can't shake.

“We don't have to go, you know,” Seunghyun offers, rummaging through a cabinet to find some tupperware containers.

He sighs.

“If I let myself believe I never had to do anything, Seunghyun, I probably wouldn't even be here right now.”

Abruptly, the rummaging stops. Seunghyun stands and catches him mid-pace, arms wrapping around his waist from behind, holding him still. It should feel stifling, but it doesn't. Jiyong breathes in slow; lets himself sink back into the solid warmth.

“What can I do?” Seunghyun asks, barely more than a whisper in his ear.

“This,” he answers without hesitation. “This is good.”

Seunghyun huffs gently in amusement and holds him a bit tighter. Jiyong lets his own arms rest over Seunghyun's.  _ It shouldn't be so hard _ , he thinks. And yet it seems like his brain is constantly and gleefully setting traps for him to fall into.

“Tell me what you're afraid of,” Seunghyun says.

He rolls the question around for a moment and comes up short, frowning.

“I don't know.”

A thoughtful hum resonates in Seunghyun's chest. “Could it be, that you're so used to avoiding or running away from the things that make you uncomfortable, that it's more habit than actual fear?”

“Sounds like you're speaking from experience.”

“I am.”

Of course. Jiyong shoves aside the part of him that wants to resist this just because it's easier than taking a closer look.

“I think that probably has a lot to do with it, yeah,” he admits quietly.

“Could it also be—” Seunghyun starts and stops as he squeezes Jiyong tighter still. “Could it also be that maybe you're afraid to be given love?”

His eyes widen a little, not expecting them to dig in any deeper than they already had. It strikes a dissonant chord in him, regardless, and now he's wondering if Seunghyun chose to hug him from behind on purpose. With the intent to bring them here.

“Wow,“ he blurts.

Immediately, Seunghyun backpedals and Jiyong doesn't need to see him to guess how hard he's wincing.

“Shit, sorry. That was too far, I'm—“

“No,” Jiyong cuts him off before he can't, holding Seunghyun in place so he doesn't pull away. That's the last thing he wants, even though his thoughts are kind of all over the fucking place, because that question is so loaded he has no idea where to start. But— but he can't deny its validity. “It's fine. You're um...” He sighs again, feeling too small. Always too small. “You're not wrong.”

This is a consequence of being known, he understands that. If it was anyone other than Seunghyun, Jiyong probably wouldn't even be having this conversation. And he needs to be pushed. Desperately. The tiny nudges he gives himself will never be enough.

Dropping his chin to the curve of Jiyong's shoulder, glasses digging awkwardly into Jiyong's skin, Seunghyun exhales heavily. “I wish I was.”

“You wouldn't have bothered if you didn't already know.” Jiyong lets out a slight laugh. “You always know.”

“Not always.”

“Fine. Most of the time.”

Seunghyun turns to smile against his neck. “Only because I see so much of myself in you.”

It's both comforting and depressing to hear that. Jiyong leans more of his weight back into Seunghyun, admittedly enjoying the physical support as much as the emotional. He's lucky. But he also still feels undeserving, which kind of drives the whole point home, doesn't it.

“Did you struggle with it?” he asks, voice quiet. Tentative. “Being loved.”

“Yeah. Still do.”

Jiyong's throat tightens and he bites into his lower lip to keep himself from saying something stupid.

“What, um,” he pauses to breathe. “What do you do to get over it?”

“Remind myself that I have worth,” Seunghyun responds.

Ah yes, his favorite pastime. Jiyong huffs. “Sounds easy.”

“Mmm.” Seunghyun's mouth curves against his neck again. “A piece of cake.”

“I might have to save that one for another day.”

“As long as you don't forget entirely.”

The silence that follows is a bit on the heavy side, charged with the words they aren't saying. The word they aren't saying, to each other. It would seem absolutely insane to Jiyong that he was even thinking it, if his entire body didn't feel like an emotional fucking clown car.

Are they really already here, though? Jiyong closes his eyes and imagines life without his own personal solar flare, conjuring the alternative with far too much ease. Because it wasn't that long ago that he was wallowing in his own pointlessness. But doesn't that make where he's standing right now a more profound achievement? He draws in a shaky breath and honestly just tries not to cry. If he cries, he's going to start babbling about how much he loves Seunghyun and they're already running late.

Like he knows, because he always knows, Seunghyun shifts to press an achingly soft kiss to Jiyong's temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”  _ I love you _ . “I think so.”

“We should probably get going.”

“Right.”

Jiyong breathes in and then out, Seunghyun squeezing him extra tight before drawing away. The absence of warmth and support is somewhat jarring, reality creeping in every time he's forced to remember he can't just hide in Seunghyun's arms forever.

_ I love you _ .

He can't stop thinking it now that he's given it permission to exist and he's still standing there in the middle of the kitchen when Seunghyun finishes packing the cookies and pulls on his jacket, offering Jiyong's coat up in invitation.

“You sure you're okay?” Seunghyun asks.

Jiyong nods as he goes to slip his coat on. He's fine. He's fantastic, not internally unraveling in slow motion or anything equally overblown and dramatic.  _ I love you, I love you, I— _

Long fingers tip his chin upward, forcing him to look at Seunghyun directly. It's kind of intense after only hearing him speak. Warm, brown eyes bore into his own. Jiyong's heart might be trying to claw its way out through his mouth.

“Embrace the choice to move, Jiyong,” Seunghyun tells him, not unkindly. “You do it every day.”

Holding Seunghyun's gaze, he takes another deep breath and tells himself he really has nothing to be afraid of. No reason to hide, despite wanting to shy away from the shaky fluttering in his wrists and his stomach. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't tired of running in the opposite direction of literally everything. Of feeling like doing nothing was always going to be the better option.

“Yeah.” Jiyong swallows thickly. “I know.”

_ I love you _ .

He takes Seunghyun's hand in his and holds fast.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Seunghyun smirks, dark eyes dancing.

_ I— _

Jiyong drags them through the door before he can act on impulse. He can unpack this later, he's really good at it now, after all. And anyway, they're late. He's not running.

He's not.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


“Hey, you were at Seunghyun's birthday party, right?”

Jiyong looks up from his phone, finding a tall boy with long, dark hair smiling down at him. They'd obviously met before. He presses his back more firmly against the wall of Ethan's apartment.

“Yeah.”

“I'm Alec.” Alec reaches out to shake his hand. “We only talked for, like, a few minutes I think.”

“Jiyong,” he returns, letting his hand drop limp at his side. “And yeah, something like that.”

  
  


⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  


“Dude, I know!” A stocky guy exclaims from further down the table. Most of them are sitting now, the warm smell of freshly cooked food filling the room. “I used to hate visiting my family for Passover, because it was boring as fuck. But you bet your ass I was gonna be the first kid to find the fucking matzah bread.”

“You had to look for bread?” Katherine, Zahra's roommate, asks, slouched in her chair and eyebrows raised.

“It's called the afikomen, which means dessert, but only because it's the last thing eaten during the seder. The leader hides it and the kids go hunt it down so the seder can conclude. We got rewards and shit, usually chocolate. I just liked winning,” stocky guy explains easily, wearing a box-like grin.

Another girl Jiyong doesn't know laughs to his right. “I see not much has changed.”

“Fuck off,” stocky guy grumbles.

Katherine lets out a sigh. “The only reward I got for dealing with my family was awkward, wine-fueled stories from my Aunt Thea.”

“Oh, we had those, too,” stocky guy chuckles. “My Uncle was the  _ worst _ .”

“Speaking of wine.”

The girl Jiyong doesn't know smirks as she reaches for one of the dark bottles sitting in the middle of the table and they all laugh. He manages a smile, holding up the door frame leading into the hallway now. Seunghyun's been in the kitchen with Ethan this whole time and Zahra couldn't find someone to cover her shift at work. He feels unmoored without something familiar to latch onto. Set adrift in the kind of way he's never liked. Jiyong realizes this is an opportunity and that he should probably take it, but he can't seem to muster the initiative. He's here isn't he. That's enough, right? Not everything has to be a grand gesture of personal growth.

One of Ethan's cackles floats out from the kitchen, followed by a rumbling amusement Jiyong would recognize anywhere.

He takes a sip from his glass and switches shoulders.

  
  


⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  


“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Ethan proclaims warmly from the head of the dining room table, arms spread wide. “I've been too busy to do this for a while, and it's really nice to focus on something other than work for a bit.”

Katherine snorts. “You're married to your job, don't lie, old man.”

“I'm also married to a good time.” Ethan hams it up, tipping matching finger guns in her general direction.

“Hear, hear!” stocky guy cheers. The others laugh.

“Enjoy the food, friends. Enjoy the company.” The grin on Ethan's face stretches to capacity. “Let's celebrate found family instead of the genocide of an entire culture.”

Multiple voices chorus an “amen” and then it's the clatter of ceramic and silverware—Seunghyun's foot nudging his from across the table. Jiyong nudges him back, but doesn't say anything.

  
  


⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  


“So what do you do?” a latecomer asks, sandwiched at the end of the table between him and Alec. Jiyong thinks he was at Seunghyun's party. Jae? He thinks it was Jae.

He chews slowly in the hopes to delay another wonderfully stimulating conversation.

“I work with Ethan. He's my boss.”

Jae's bright eyes widen, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Oh, cool.”

“You?”

“Trader Joe's and bartending with that idiot,” Jae laughs while gesturing to Seunghyun. “But I do some freelance illustration on the side when I can. The hustle isn't called the hustle for nothing, right?”

Jiyong nods; knows this is the part where he's supposed to sympathize. He shrugs instead. “I wouldn't really know.”

“No labors of love?”

“Not really.”

A knot starts to form between Jae's thick eyebrows.

“Something must interest you.”

Jiyong huffs quietly. “Must it?” he asks, sliding Jae an, admittedly, judgmental glance.

“Guess not,” Jae replies. He looks like he wants to argue. “Sounds like a sad life to me, though.”

“Good thing it's mine and not yours,” Jiyong counters.

Those bright eyes widen for a different reason now, an embarrassed blush coloring Jae's cheeks as he ducks his head and chuckles unevenly.

“Sorry.”

A sigh sits in his lungs, waiting.

“It's fine.”

  
  


⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  


“Yo, little bird. How's it going?” Ethan corners him in the living room. They haven't spoken one-on-one all night.

“Fine.”

“You know that's the most common lie ever told.”

Jiyong smiles at him slightly then turns back to the window. “You caught me.”

“What's up?”

“Not much. Just reaffirming my inability to hold meaningful conversations with people.”

Ethan scoffs. “What about me? We converse meaningfully all the time.”

“Stockholm syndrome,” Jiyong deadpans. Ethan punches him lightly in the arm.

“Funny.”

He lets a real smile crawl across his face now and the sigh leaks from his mouth, finally. “Connecting with people has never been part of my skillset,” Jiyong admits. Shouldn't it be obvious? “Even after the small talk. Maybe especially then.”

“Maybe. But you've connected with plenty of new people just fine, from where I'm standing. Becca, Zahra, myself, our beloved Sylvia,” Ethan says. “Numbers aren't everything, my friend. Quality over quantity.”

One of Ethan's large hands lands on his shoulder and squeezes. He nods. In defeat or agreement, he doesn't know yet.

“Yeah.”

“We're about to unleash the pies, by the way. So...” Ethan's hand slips away. He winks, tapping his own nose. “Stay sharp.”

Jiyong laughs a little. “Sure, Ethan.”

  
  


⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  


He's standing at the window again when a pair of long arms snake around him from behind.

“Are you burnt out yet?” Seunghyun asks into his hair.

Jiyong takes a moment to savor the contact, then turns around, and Seunghyun automatically reaches up to slide his palm against Jiyong's cheek. He savors that, too.

“Pretty close,” he says.

“We can leave soon, if you want.”

“You don't have to come with me.”

“I know.” Seunghyun leans in until their foreheads touch, a smirk toying with the corner of his lips. “But I've grown rather fond of sleeping with you.”

Jiyong laughs. “Okay.”

But then Seunghyun pulls back abruptly, eyebrows furrowed and raised.

“Unless you don't want me to go with you?”

“Really?” Jiyong asks, even raising an eyebrow of his own. He hopes it properly expresses how stupid he thinks Seunghyun is.

“I'm only like, ninety-five percent fluent in Jiyong, all right? That last five percent is super tricky,” Seunghyun explains, with all one-hundred and ten percent of his overwhelming sincerity.

The urge to roll his eyes is strong.

“Let me un-trick it for you,” Jiyong tells him instead, because he's not a mysterious puzzle, just a person. “I can't count the number of times I haven't really wanted to be around you, because there aren't any.”

Seunghyun tries to squint through the spotlight that is his face. “You'd let me know if there was, though.”

“Unlikely, but yes.”

“Good.”

He stares for a while, getting that surreal not-his-life feeling again as Seunghyun stares back. But it is. And he really did just say that, quite possibly out-cheesing Seunghyun for the first time ever. Jiyong would blush if he wasn't caught somewhere between social exhaustion and his own self-loathing.

“I'm gonna say goodnight to Ethan,” he says quietly. Seunghyun nods and steps back.

Making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of hearty, bell-laughter, Jiyong wonders if he'll ever get past this weird, nebulous place he seems to have found himself in.

Not great. Not terrible. Not happy. Not sad. He snatches bits of each at any given moment.

Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. Maybe that’s the secret.

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:21PM]**

sorry i missed friendsgiving!!

**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:21PM]**

things at work have just

been mega crazy. i hope

it wasn’t too horrible :(

**[Sent Nov 27 8:25PM]**

Not horrible

**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:26PM]**

sooo convincing

**[Sent Nov 27 8:26PM]**

Really, it wasn’t

**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:27PM]**

fine don’t tell me

**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:27PM]**

i’ll squeeze it out of you

next weekend when i’m

no longer a slave to the

corporate machine

**[Sent Nov 27 8:28PM]**

I can’t wait

**Zahra**

**[Sent Nov 27 8:29PM]**

icu sarcastic sally

**[Sent Nov 27 8:29PM]**

;p

  
  
  
  
  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

  
  
  
  
  


Two days later, Jiyong’s general state of mind hasn’t changed much. He’s tired. Listless. Stuck in a holding pattern he is all too familiar with. The only difference is that Seunghyun seems to be in the same boat this time. Jiyong doesn’t know if he unwittingly passed it on, like some psychological cold, or if it was just overdue. Part of it is probably stress over the upcoming open mic night. Jiyong doesn’t have enough information to guess at anything else, and he has to admit that the flutter is more trepidation than anything else as he climbs up the fire escape stairs and slips in through the open window.

Because Seunghyun is so good at being a source of comfort for him that he’s afraid his own attempts won’t measure up.

“Seunghyun?” he calls into the empty living room.

“In here.”

The bedroom is dark when Jiyong nudges the door wider and steps inside. Faint light pushes through heavy curtains--enough to make out the lump of Seunghyun on the floor, huddled under a blanket and leaning against his bed.  _ That bad, huh? _ He doesn’t know what he was expecting, though.

“Hey,” Jiyong greets quietly.

Seunghyun glances up at him, offering the barest hint of a wan smile. “Hey.”

It’s never really been awkward between them, but he can’t deny feeling it now as he lingers in the doorway wracking his brain for what to do. What to say. Jiyong tries to remember all the things he hates when he’s like this. The platitudes, the false sympathy. He can’t know what Seunghyun actually needs if Seunghyun doesn’t tell him, and that seems unlikely when Seunghyun is, basically, ignoring him.

“I, um--” Jiyong swears he’s five seconds from wringing his goddamn hands. “I can go? If you don’t actually want anyone around. I just thought I’d come check on you.”

Seunghyun had texted him about twenty minutes ago. It took that long to convince himself how stupid he was being.

“No, stay,” Seunghyun answers easily and pats the floor beside him.

A weird rush of relief passes through Jiyong. “Okay.”

He sits--close enough that they’re almost touching, but not. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable, having to curb his impulses now. He was just getting used to letting himself do whatever. Is this how Seunghyun felt before Jiyong gave him the green light? He wants to feel guilty, but knows that’s stupid, too.

“Do you have to work later?” Seunghyun asks, pulling him out of his head.

“I switched shifts.”

When Jiyong turns, Seunghyun is still looking at him. He takes it as a good sign.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Jiyong says. “In case you didn’t want to be alone.”

There’s a moment, then, where his words hang between them and everything outside of this room seems very far away. Just the soft darkness, the sound of their breathing, the tugging in his chest from the way Seunghyun is staring. It’s different than the other times, because Jiyong is the one offering something. Jiyong is the one asking.

Seunghyun’s smile creeps onto his face slowly, far more real than the last one, and he tips closer, dropping his head to Jiyong’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Such a simple thing, those two words. And yet, for them, it always feels like it means so much more.

Jiyong doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t need to, just adjusts slightly, pressing his mouth to pastel pink and closing his eyes. _Is this all it takes?_ he wonders. Or is it different every time? He’s been what he is for so long, he can’t speak from experience, since it rarely changes. _Had_ _rarely changed_ , his brain corrects him. Had rarely changed. He’s a little more inconsistent these days, he supposes.

Shifting, Seunghyun frees a hand from under the blanket and slides it into his. Jiyong breathes in, squeezing their fingers gently. When there’s a firm squeeze back, his heart squeezes with it, and he hopes, against all odds, that he’ll have a chance to learn all the ways Seunghyun might need him.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks a few minutes later, just to be sure.

“No.” Seunghyun gives a small shake of his head. “This is good.”

“Okay,” Jiyong says again. 

And it is.


	7. part 7

“Are you nervous?” Zahra asks, standing next to him at Willow Street’s bar.

It’s packed tonight and there’s a different kind of energy crackling throughout the room that has nothing to do with his social anxiety--everyone hovering near the low platform that’s been brought in for the open mic performances. Jiyong casts her a brief glance, but his eyes are continuously drawn back to the empty stage.

“Why would I be nervous?”

“You get to see your boy perform for the first time,” she answers, excitement in her voice and the width of her smile. “And, knowing Seunghyun, it’ll probably be super sappy now that you’re together.”

He almost scoffs. It’s still bizarre, thinking of them as a _couple_. It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t suit them or what he thinks they are to each other. Which is something he also tries not to think about too much, because it always sets his insides ablaze with too many things. Good and bad.

“If he does, I think embarrassment is higher up on that list,” Jiyong sighs. 

Embarrassment is probably inevitable, actually. Seunghyun’s performance is supposed to be a gift. _For him_. He swallows down a fresh wave of panic at the reminder, swaying when Zahra nudges him obnoxiously with her elbow.

“What, public confessions aren’t your style?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother answering, just sips at his beer and keeps staring at the lone stool and mic stand. Several people have already had their turn, most of them musicians. He tries to imagine Seunghyun there, sharing himself with a room full of strangers, giving away his magic with dancing fingers and nimble words.

Something had changed after their role reversal last week. Something that Jiyong is still having trouble understanding. Or accepting. He thinks he’ll always struggle to be kind to himself, and admitting that life has handed him something special instead of the usual pile of shit might jinx it. So he doesn’t want to, despite not being able to ignore the way their dynamic has shifted and settled into a new configuration. One that feels a lot less amorphous.

Is he nervous? Not exactly. But he was only on the receiving end of Seunghyun’s verbal witchcraft once before, and he wasn’t--

Jiyong stops that thought, downing most of his lager in an attempt to silence it, but he fails, like he always does.

_I wasn’t in love with him then_.

In love. A feat he never thought himself capable of, and yet…

Wide-eyed, he drops his gaze to the floor, remembering the ache in his chest when Seunghyun had squeezed his hand. Remembering the certainty in that deceptively simple gesture.

“Jiyong?”

Zahra is nudging him again. Jiyong blinks and looks up.

“Huh?”

“Your favorite bartender has a question for you,” she teases.

He turns around, and then almost instantly regrets it, because Seunghyun is a bit disheveled and sweaty and so absurdly perfect in his imperfection that it kind of pisses him off.

“Do you want another one before I go up?” Seunghyun asks, adjusting his glasses. A nervous tick.

“Oh.” Jiyong looks down at his empty beer glass, then slides it across the counter. “Sure.”

Seunghyun studies him briefly before shifting his attention to the tap. A fresh pint appears in front of him. Jiyong registers the music and the constant chatter around him--knows he is surrounded by unfamiliar people--but when Seunghyun leans over and into his space, it all falls away.

“You good?”

Jiyong lifts his eyebrows, because he’s not the one about to go on stage in front of a crowd of strangers. “Are _you_?”

“Yeah,” Seunghyun laughs slightly, smiling. “I’m good.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, or are you actually okay?” he asks.

With a sure hand, Seunghyun reaches out to take one of Jiyong’s, pushing their fingers together. It’s unsettling how much he’s grown used to the sensation. Like his hands are more comfortable with themselves than he is.

“I know I’ve made it a habit to say things to make you feel better, but I’d never keep something like that from you.”

Jiyong swallows thickly, acutely aware of the world at his back. Zahra at his side, politely ignoring their _moment_. And here he is, staring into Seunghyun’s ever-heartfelt eyes trying not to feel anything with too much depth. Which is somewhat hampered by the return of the ache in his chest.

“Got it,” he answers lamely, trying to laugh off his sudden awkwardness.

In a typical Seunghyun move, he pulls Jiyong’s hand closer to press a kiss to their linked fingers. It’s so disgustingly sweet that Jiyong crumples forward onto the counter to bury his blushing face into his other arm, turning just enough to glare up at his grinning abuser.

“Sometimes I think you actually want me to die.”

“Honey, you’re up!” Val calls.

Seunghyun’s grin falters briefly as his fingers slip free of Jiyong’s grasp. “Saved by the bell.”

And then he’s gone. Jiyong considers spending the rest of the night hugging the bar counter instead of watching Seunghyun’s performance. But Zahra keeps smacking his arm, so he sucks it up and turns around, attempting--probably unsuccessfully--to prepare himself for the emotional trauma about to be inflicted upon him.

On the stage, Seunghyun squints against the glare of the lights and adjusts the microphone stand. Jiyong can actually feel the energy in the room change slightly--humming just a little bit louder. The audience knows what to expect. _He_ definitely doesn’t, even after the last two months. It has him swallowing thickly and then the flutter ricochets right through his stomach as Seunghyun tosses a smile out into the crowd and sets the stool off to the side.

“Evening, folks,” Seunghyun begins, wiping his hands on his jeans as he scans the packed bar.

Everyone claps and hollers. He’s pretty sure Seunghyun is blushing.

“Enough of that,” Seunghyun says, chuckling. He pushes a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Now, before we get this show on the road, I just wanna let you all know that I’m gonna be doing something a bit different tonight. Apologies if it’s not what you came for, but them’s the breaks.”

Jiyong has no idea what that means, and the flutter suddenly twists in the pit of his stomach. Especially when Seunghyun’s eyes glance over in Jiyong’s direction before settling back on the audience.

With a roll of his shoulders, Seunghyun settles into his own body and takes the mic out of its cradle. The transformation is subtle, but Jiyong notices. Just like he notices the way Seunghyun’s everything starts to speak just before he does.

“When I was a boy, my dad used to take me out at night to see the stars. I remember the moment he first told me to look up. It wasn’t like anything, because it just _was_ . A boundless blanket of the deepest indigo, a cast of color I couldn’t even name at the time, because I was only six. But I felt it, here--” Seunghyun pauses to press a hand to his stomach. “That tug of vertigo to sail face-first into an enormous, sparkling void that was hanging _right_ above my head. I was terrified and transfixed, rooted to that spot in my back yard, wondering if I stared long enough, would it stop feeling like the stars were going to turn into teeth and come down from the heavens to eat me.

“They didn’t, for the record.”

A ripple of amusement passes through the crowd and Seunghyun continues, free hand gesturing in the air around him, fingers telling their own version of the story in tandem.

“But the feeling of falling upward remained, even as I grew a few feet closer to the mysterious marvel in question.

“The terror, thankfully, had turned into curiosity at this point. An all-consuming compulsion to fill my head with as much knowledge as humanly possible. Imagine twelve year old me, fingers still thick with baby fat, scooping ineffectually at the waters of that starlit ocean and stuffing whatever I could carry into my pockets. Imagine fourteen year old me, arranging with _painstaking_ accuracy, every major constellation and even some of the minor ones on my bedroom ceiling. The walls, the windows. You know those plastic glow in the dark stars. It took _weeks_ and every precious penny of my allowance. And yet…”

Another pause. Seunghyun paces the small stage with lazy steps, always peering back out into the crowd, addressing them like close friends. He draws them in with every charming tilt of his lips; the boyish twinkle in his eye. Jiyong can’t look anywhere else.

“And yet, I still couldn’t figure out what made me care so much. All those facts and figures tumbling around in my brain that explained how and why and where. None of them seemed to hold the answer to the paralyzing euphoria I felt when I looked up.

“Why do we romanticize a blazing ball of gas? Why did we, as humans, feel compelled to play connect-the-dots with these bright spots in the sky and then breathe them full of life? Full of stories. Gods, monsters, heroes. A different tale for every civilization that ever existed on this solitary rock and chose to tilt their heads back for a few damn minutes.

“Stories give meaning to things we don’t understand. Even if it’s made up and has absolutely no fucking legs to stand on. Because myths don’t need legs. Only wings in which to send our imaginations soaring up into the ether. And I love those myths. They’re ridiculous and magical and a testament to our dedication as an entire species to escape the dredges of everyday existence.

“So it makes sense, doesn’t it? Our infinite love affair with the universe. That constant and inescapable drive to give _ourselves_ meaning. We search for pieces of ourselves in the stars, because we are made of the same things. We search for pieces of ourselves in each other, because we all share that atomic, cosmic composition. 

“It took me a while to understand this was the reason why the concept of the universe scared the shit out of me as much as it inspired fascination. The sky was full of endlessly spiraling galaxies, but so was I. Nebulae floated, gigantic and ghostlike, in the nothingness of space--birthing new stars within their massive, interstellar dust fingers. But so was I.

“I had countless undiscovered planets inside of me, surrounded by equally unknown moons, but I was too busy looking up to notice.

“Do you? Notice, I mean. Or is your view too clouded by debris to see past these obstacles of your own making?” Seunghyun asks, addressing only Jiyong now, his gaze cutting through the murk of the bar to find him. “I used to have the same problem. A sky full of satellites and space junk where no light traveled in or out.”

Jiyong’s breath catches in his throat. Heat prickles violently under his skin. The moment hangs between them, then Seunghyun smiles gently and turns away, except his words are still meant for Jiyong’s ears alone.

“The day we met, though, it was honestly kind of hard to look at you, because I could see your astral rays pushing through tiny cracks in the armor you’d hidden inside of. You were incredible, standing there at the window, a web of pinpricked lights. 

“I wanted to know you. To fall into orbit around you for as long as you’d let me. And when you did, I felt it here--” Seunghyun presses a hand to his stomach, fingers clenching in the fabric of his t-shirt. “That tug of vertigo to sail face-first into your celestial ocean. To discover what galaxies swirled within the black coffee depths of your eyes. What stories had been written by your constellations. Where you had been on your interstellar travels.

“It shouldn’t have been a surprise, y’know? To see so much of myself reflected back at me, but there you were. An entirely new universe, not so different from my own.”

Again, Seunghyun’s gaze easily picks him out of the crowd. Rooted to the spot, Jiyong feels the ache in his marrow.

“I couldn’t tell you how many revolutions I’ve completed since that first day. Only that the highlight of the journey so far, is bearing witness to the moment a satellite drops away, releasing another solar flare out into the ether, setting the sky on fire. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get to bask in the glow.

“It’s warm, the glow, and so blinding in its brightness it leaves no room for shadows. I hope one day you’ll stop looking up long enough to see just how bright you are. I hope one day you’ll feel that terror at the infinity housed within you. And I hope, most of all, that you let my revolutions continue, so we fall upwards into that boundless blanket of indigo together.

“Because when I’m with you, I’m more than the sum of my parts. I’m six years old, staring up at the heavens--not filled with fear, but with awe and possibility. I’m twelve, allowing those galactic waters to flow freely through my chubby fingers. I’m fourteen, pressing plastic stars to my ceiling in no particular order, letting them make their own meanings.

“I’m twenty-eight, standing on a stage in front of a crowd of strangers, so I can say this…” Seunghyun’s mouth twitches into a broad grin that he fails to repress, very clearly trying not to laugh as he schools his face into a calm expression. “Oh, rubber duckie, you’re the one. You make bath time lots of fun. Rubber duckie, I’m awfully fond of you.”

In the confused silence that follows, Jiyong smothers a delirious giggle behind his hands. There’s some awkward chuckling, then one person starts to clap, spurring the rest of the room into a round of applause, but he doesn’t really hear it. Seunghyun startles at the noise--smiles, bows, waves away the hollers of appreciation--like he forgot the other fifty people were even there. Jiyong watches this all happen in a strange daze, everything drifting around him in slow motion. He knows Zahra is looking at him with wide, excited eyes, but he honestly can’t process very much right now. Just the pounding of his own heart against his ribs. The rush of blood in his ears. A world, underwater.

Then it’s a messy blur of pink and hands on his shoulders, guiding him through the packed bar and out onto the blessedly quiet sidewalk. Cold nips at his cheeks, clarity returns.

“Sorry,” Seunghyun says with a huff, scratching at the back of his head and looking down at his feet. “I know that was a lot. I’m ridiculous.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. Jiyong wants to say something--anything. But he’s not even sure he can find the words after all the ones Seunghyun just carefully placed at his feet. 

Although maybe he doesn’t need them. Maybe he can just reach out and grab Seunghyun’s shirt to pull him in. It seems to work, because Seunghyun moves into his space without resistance, hands lifting to Jiyong’s arms, face pressed into Jiyong’s hair. A familiar arrangement.

He breathes and it feels like the first real breath he’s taken in the last twenty minutes. Chilled air fills his lungs. Seunghyun’s thumbs rub at the insides of his elbows. Jiyong smiles, which is all it takes for him to start laughing again.

“I can’t believe you ruined that with the rubber duckie song.”

Seunghyun scoffs. “I didn’t ruin it, I elevated it to a higher form of art. Obviously.”

The tremors in his stomach are the only thing keeping him from tipping the emotional scale in the opposite direction, but it’s a fine line and his balance has always sucked.

Jiyong hits Seunghyun on the chest lightly. “God, why are you like this?”

“Wait. You-- you’re not mad at me, are you?” Seunghyun asks, sounding panicked, and he moves to tilt Jiyong’s head up.

He lifts both eyebrows. “Do I look mad?”

Even without the very obvious tears in his eyes, he’s pretty sure he just looks like someone trying not to have an emotional breakdown. Seunghyun frowns and presses both hands to Jiyong’s cheeks.

“No.”

_Ugh_ . Jiyong can’t even deal with Seunghyun staring at him like that. From across the room, while he’s having an out of body experience, is one thing. Not up close where there’s no escape from all those _cosmic rays_. He groans, pushing forward to hide his face in Seunghyun’s shoulder.

_I love you_ , Jiyong thinks, wrapping his arms around Seunghyun’s waist and holding him as tightly as he can. Despite all the reasons he wants to disagree with all those words at his feet. He doesn’t know if there’ll ever be a time when he won’t. But the flutter still sloshes around in his stomach, reminding him that, against the odds, Seunghyun sees all of those reasons and loves him anyway.

City noises drift and fade in the distance. Muffled bar chatter, a constant din in the periphery. The faint tinkling of moths hovering around the streetlight overhead, bumping into the glass.

Seunghyun squeezes him back and starts to sway them from side to side. Then comes the singing, low and gravelly and vibrating through him from every angle.

“Rubber duckie, joy of joys. When I squeeze you,” Seunghyun croons off key, crushing Jiyong in his arms until Jiyong legitimately giggle shrieks. “You make noise! Rubber duckie, you’re my very best friend, it’s true.”

He can’t breathe again, but this time it’s because there’s too much laughter fighting to escape at once.

_Rubber duckie, you’re so fine_

_And I’m lucky that you’re mine_

_Rubber duckie, I’d like a whole pond of_

_Rubber duckie, I’m awfully fond of you_

  
  
  
  
  


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Rain slants against the windows, clinking against the panes in the kind of off-kilter rhythm that has Jiyong spacing out more than he’s concentrating on anything. His mind’s been wandering into some strange places after the open mic night at Willow Street. Strange, because he’s never wandered these paths before. And strange, because he catches himself smiling so often now.

Jiyong looks out at the gray, clouded sky from his spot on the couch, computer balanced on his leg. He leans against the armrest and sighs.

He genuinely doesn’t know if he’ll ever think of himself the way Seunghyun does, but at least he can be proud of himself for deciding not to fight him on it. There are better ways to expend his energy than an argument he won’t even win.

Jiyong huffs slightly and shakes his head, turning back to his laptop screen. Like finding the perfect form of payback for the years Seunghyun shaved off his life with that performance.

He glances at the unopened box sitting on the other end of the couch and when his nth attempt to distract himself on the internet goes south, he snaps his computer shut. Jiyong checks his phone. He was going to wait until after dark to set up his _surprise_ , but he doesn’t know if he can wait that long. Even if Seunghyun isn’t off work until ten. Jiyong scrubs at his face. He’s terrible at this. He wishes he could go for a walk. Shake off all this weird energy.

“Fuck it,” he announces, listening to impulse as he gets up from the couch and snatches the box.

He grabs his keys, tucks the box under one arm, pads out into the hallway on bare feet, taking the stairs two at a time. It always feels wrong going through Seunghyun’s front door instead of through the window, but it’s so gross outside, he doesn’t care. He’ll probably have to get used to it once it starts snowing. Although he has a pretty solid hunch that even a blizzard wouldn’t stop Seunghyun from clambering through his window in the dead of winter.

Smiling at the absurd image, Jiyong finds the right key on his ring, then lets himself inside and shuts the door. He strides directly into the living room, full of more purpose than he’s ever been filled with about anything. _Another first_. He should start keeping a log, honestly. Just for posterity.

Jiyong laughs to himself and scans the walls, looking for an outlet. He spots an empty one to the right of a narrow bookshelf in the far corner, next to the bathroom. It’s perfect. He grins.

_If this doesn’t end up being my single greatest contribution to the world_ , he thinks as he sets the box down on the floor, pushing the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows and getting to work.

Then he’s failed a hell of a lot more than he originally thought.

  
  
  
  
  


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**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Dec 15 10:21PM]**

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Dec 15 10:21PM]**

YOU

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Dec 15 10:22PM]**

ARE IN SO MUCH

TROUBLE

Jiyong almost drops his phone, the nervous excitement coursing through him so intense that it’s compromising his basic motor functions. He tries to type in a reply, but his fingers are so damn jittery, like they’re going to fly right off his fucking hands.

**[Sent Dec 15 10:23PM]**

i have no idea what you’re

talking about

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Dec 15 10:23PM]**

GET YOUR LYING ASS UP

HERE RIGHT NOW AND

TELL ME THAT TO MY

FACE

Jiyong seriously laughs so loud that he surprises himself.

**Seunghyun**

**[Sent Dec 15 10:24PM]**

I FUCKING HEARD THAT YOU

ASSHOLE

Which only serves to make him cackle a bit harder. If not for the kitchen counter holding him up, he would crumple to the floor in a useless pile of crazed, adrenaline-soaked limbs. Nothing makes him feel more insane than uncontrollable laughter. It used to be so hard, and now? Now it’s like he’s possessed, some raging joy demon bubbling up from the hellish depths of his emotional repression. Jiyong gasps for air and wipes happy tears from his eyes, marveling at the wetness on his fingers. Logically, they shouldn’t feel any different than any of the tears he’s shed before, but they do.

“JIYONG.”

The bellowed shout echoes out into the alleyway, bouncing off the bricks.

“Oh, shit,” he wheezes, stumbling out of the kitchen on his way to the fire escape.

Rain still falls from the sky in fat droplets, but he doesn’t spare it much thought as his bare feet hit the metal grate. When he looks up, he finds Seunghyun hanging out of his window, wet hair plastered to his face. Jiyong snorts.

“Yeah, sure, laugh it up,” Seunghyun calls, scowling.

For a split second, he wonders if he screwed up. His heart skips an anxious beat at the possibility and Jiyong’s amusement yanks itself out from under him like the proverbial rug. He jogs up the last few steps, meeting Seunghyun at the window.

“I’m sorry, I thought--”

“Oh my god, just--”

Seunghyun takes hold of him with both hands, then hauls them into his apartment and onto the floor in a damp heap. Jiyong grunts, elbows smarting.

“ _Ow_.”

“You fucking deserve it,” Seunghyun says.

“How is this any worse than what you did to me?” Jiyong groans, flopping onto his back. It’s dark, save for the swirling mass of stars rotating slowly over the walls and the ceiling.

“Because! It is!” Seunghyun nearly yells. He looks over at Jiyong with wide, pleading eyes. “Listen. You can’t just randomly decide to plant an entire fucking universe in my living room, okay?”

Jiyong’s mouth twitches. “Why not?”

“You upstaged me!” Seunghyun whines.

“Seriously?” he asks, leaning over to stare down at Seunghyun with the full power of his arched eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat your own words back at you?”

There’s a pause where Seunghyun opens his mouth, obviously intending to argue the point, but nothing comes out. Jiyong watches a colorful nebula pass over Seunghyun’s face. He’s just about to reach out and chase it with his fingers when Seunghyun clears his throat.

“We still haven’t talked about that, by the way.”

“A little on the nose, don’t you think,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the blanket of space covering his arms, his chest, his legs.

A planet glides smoothly across the curve of his hip and before he can look back up, Seunghyun’s hand is in his hair, dragging him in for a kiss. It surprises another laugh out of his lungs, makes his toes curl against the floorboards. Jiyong rolls over onto Seunghyun to kiss him harder and Seunghyun reciprocates by tightly wrapping both arms and legs around Jiyong like a star-speckled octopus.

“You didn’t ask first,” he mumbles, grinning.

“I love you,” Seunghyun replies in a rush.

Jiyong pulls back. “What?”

“I love you.” Seunghyun’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his eyebrows scrunched and halfway up his forehead. “I love you and I’m in love with you.”

He blinks. The merry-go-round of galaxies pass slowly in his periphery, trailing across Seunghyun’s moderately panicked expression. Jiyong feels his heart skittering against his ribcage. There’s no itch under his skin, no fear pulling at his insides like taffy. Just the giddy _thump-thump-thump_ , because there isn’t room for anything else.

Jiyong doesn’t have something clever or sweet to say in response, either. Even if his brain was functioning normally and not overflowing with endorphins, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know how he was going to tell Seunghyun in the first place, anyway, and now here this asshole is, stealing his thunder all over again.

He laughs softly, biting into his lip, gaze dancing over Seunghyun’s face. The words just kind of...spill out of his mouth on their own.

“Yeah,” Jiyong says. “Me too.”

Seunghyun smiles so wide his eyes transform into crescent moons, his fingers brushing through Jiyong’s hair, looking at him like he doesn’t need the novelty lamp to think Jiyong is made of star stuff. He already knows that. Just like he still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see it himself. And that’s ok.

“Now that I’ve said it, I probably won’t stop,” Seunghyun laughs.

“You might break me if you do,” Jiyong answers wryly. He’s only half-joking.

Which doesn’t deter Seunghyun at all, because why would it.

“I love you.”

He shakes his head. “Seunghyun.”

“I love you so much,” Seunghyun says again anyway, pulling Jiyong back into his arms and rolling them across the floor.

His throat feels tight, heart still beating too fast in his chest.

“If I say it back, will you shut up?” he asks, grunting under Seunghyun’s weight pinning him down.

“You don’t have to.”

Jiyong glances away. “I want to.”

Even though he might fly apart in the process.

Sliding off to the side, Seunghyun frowns a little and drops his head into his hand. “You really don’t have to, I promise I’ll try to keep my amorous declarations to a mildly gross minimum.”

He tsks, his own lips twitching despite his attempts to flatten them. He’s well aware that he doesn’t have to, but the words feel like they’re going to burn a hole clean through his chest if he doesn’t let them out. Or something close to them, at least. _Like walking_ , he tells himself. Forward motion, just verbal.

Jiyong’s eyes flicker from Seunghyun’s face, to the ceiling, to his own hands laying on his stomach. It’s never easy to look at that face, even when he isn’t about to get real. It’s even more of a challenge when the star lamp has turned him into a literal space boy, so he stares at a random spot on Seunghyun’s shoulder and tries to remember what it was he wanted to say.

_Oh, right._

“I, um-- I guess I should start with the part where I didn’t even think this was possible.” Honestly, Jiyong didn’t think anything was possible. “But you seem to be really good at destroying things. Like all the expectations I had of myself.”

“Sorry for interrupting, but that was all you,” Seunghyun says.

He sighs.

“It definitely wasn’t.”

“Uh, no.”

Jiyong shakes his head and reaches over to dig his fingers into Seunghyun’s sides, making him squirm and cry out. “I’m sorry, you’re wrong.”

“What are you talking about? I’m never wrong,” Seunghyun giggles and then whines and flails onto his back. “ _Jesus christ, stop_.”

“Are you ticklish, Seunghyun?” Jiyong asks innocently, trying to slide his hands underneath Seunghyun’s shirt.

Seunghyun makes a pained face. “Nope! Nope. N-Not me. It’s-- It must be someone else.”

He laughs when Seunghyun slaps at his arms, but it’s not enough to fight him off--fingers terrorizing vulnerable ribs until Seunghyun can’t breathe. It’s as good an opportunity as any.

“Thank you,” Jiyong says, leaning over to press a kiss to Seunghyun’s flushed cheek. “I love you,” he adds. “And you’re still wrong.”

“Well, I’m never gonna forgive you for showing me up,” Seunghyun pants beneath him, red-faced and beaming, glasses askew.

Jiyong shrugs, pushes the wet mess of Seunghyun’s hair off of his forehead.

“I think I can live with that,” he says. “I mean, I kinda knocked it out of the park.”

Seunghyun yanks him in and presses a firm kiss to Jiyong’s mouth.

“You didn’t ask,” Jiyong says, giddy laughter taking up residence in every single one of his atoms. “Again. I’m starting to think that was all bullshit.”

“It wasn’t bullshit!” Seunghyun answers. 

He looks ridiculous with his glasses still tilted halfway off his face, so Jiyong sets them on the floor a safe distance away. Hopefully. Seunghyun steals another kiss and his insides shake apart a little more, dispersing until he feels uncharacteristically light. Like he really is made of stardust.

“Definitely bullshit.”

“Okay, then, asshole,” Seunghyun huffs, nudging Jiyong’s nose playfully. “How’s this for a question?”

Warm lips brush his own. Jiyong shivers.

“Can I kiss you until the day I die?”

He smiles and a memory flashes through his mind. The pink-haired stranger outside his window, haloed in sunlight--changing his life with one, deceptively simple question. Jiyong didn’t know that at the time, of course. Just like he has no idea what tomorrow might throw at him. Or next week. A month from now, a year. Five years. Jiyong has never been certain about anything. The world less so. But if the last seventy-nine days have imparted any wisdom into his useless, pea brain, it’s that taking a chance can yield unexpected results. It’s that he has more than just emptiness inside of him. It’s the happy weightlessness in his bones telling him he doesn’t always have to keep moving.

It’s the startling realization that he can do this and _still be a mess_ and it doesn’t even matter. He’s not alone anymore.

“Yeah,” Jiyong replies, tears stinging his eyes until he can’t see, heart _thump-thump-thump_ ing. He lets out a strained laugh and smiles. “I’d like that.”

He’s not alone, he thinks. He’s wonderful.

* * *

a/n: if you'd like to ride this feels train with me into the sunset, please do me the honor of listening to [david bowie's rock n roll suicide](https://open.spotify.com/track/1k5iH4KDKi56MFvlnrALNV)

**Author's Note:**

> also, if anyone sees anything in this fic they think i need to tag for, please speak up. ty ty


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